the sons of the minotaur
by Kalona Mathews
Summary: Perseus and beranabus were both destined for great things one the hero of Olympus twice over and the greatest swordsman of all time, the other the greatest wizard the world has seen since merlin, and the leader of the disciples. 2 very different destinies 1 identical adopted parent...the minotaur
1. the labyrinth

(AN I have writers block for the Addams family/harry potter crossover and this idea popped into my head so I thought I'd give it a go)

Brigitta was sixteen years old and about to get married. She had been promised to a prince since birth. He was handsome and kind, and she was looking forward to the wedding. She had dreams of bearing many fine warrior sons, becoming queen of a mighty empire and living a long and happy life.

But the prince angered a powerful priestess. For revenge, she summoned a demon on the day of the wedding. The beast killed many of the guests and kidnapped Brigitta. She suffered terribly, but the demon didn't kill her. Instead, several months later he sent her back to the prince-pregnant.

Brigitta was in shock, but the prince cared only about the shame this would bring upon his family. He called in a favour of King Minos and sent Brigitta to Crete on his fleet's fastest ship. Her mouth was bound and her face covered, so nobody could identify her.

At the island she was led into the infamous Labyrinth, where her face and mouth were freed under cover of darkness. She was left to roam the twisting pathways of the maze until the Minotaur found and killed her.

Like hundreds of other doomed victims, Brigitta tried to find a way out of the Labyrinth, but her quest was hopeless. She could hear the harsh breathing of the Minotaur echoing through the tunnels, and the scraping of his hooves along the dusty floor. She knew he was following her, watching, waiting, savouring her anguish and fear.

Brigitta was in the final stage of her pregnancy. She hoped the Minotaur would kill her before the baby was born, to spare the child a ghastly death. But she could not delay the birth forever. Eventually she had to lie down and, in the blood-stained dirt of the maze, delivered 2 squealing boys, twins. There was no light, so she could not check if they were deformed. They felt like normal babies, but she would never know for sure.

As she looked at her sons sadly, the Minotaur moved in for the kill. He did not mask his footsteps. The beast hoped she would run. He liked it when his prey ran. But Brigitta only sat there, hugging her babies and crying. Just before the monster reached her, she leant over the infants and whispered, "Your name is Beranabus and yours is perseus"

Then the Minotaur was upon her, and the corridors echoed with human screams and bullish howls of vicious delight.

When he had sated his inhuman appetite, the Minotaur turned his attention to the babies, The children had been silent since the beast had separated them from their mother. The monster sat on Brigitta's severed head and picked up them up studying him with a vicious smile.

The Minotaur shook them both wildly, to make them cry. But instead the babies did something entirely unexpected they giggled. Although they looked human, he was a creature of two universes. He had the mind and curiosity of one much older.

The Minotaur growled and held them up by his feet. He clamped his jaws around Beranabus's head and squeezed softly.

Again the babies laughed, then reached out with trembling hands. The Minotaur thought the babies meant to slap him away. But they were only fascinated. exploring the beast's fangs and nose, patting and stroking them as if playing with a doll.

The Minotaur released the children's heads and hoisted them up for a better look. The babies scratched the beast's scalp and horns. The Minotaur chuckled throatily, then winced as they tugged his hair. He reached sharply for the beranabus's hands. But although he wrapped his large, hairy fingers around the boy's pudgy wrist, the Minotaur didn't rip the fingers off or even bite them. There was something unusual about these babies which the Minotaur had never experienced before.

They weren't afraid.

Everybody else had been terrified of the beast. His mother, the midwife, the people of his village. Even the godly Heracles shook with fright when he came to capture the Minotaur. Nobody saw the great hero's fear, but the Minotaur smelt it and as always it drove him mad with hunger and lust. During his long years of captivity in the Labyrinth, King Minos had sent many prisoners his way. Some were resigned and went to their deaths with a smile on their lips, praying for redemption. But they'd all trembled when the Minotaur breathed on the back of their neck and ran his claws along the soft skin of their stomach.

But these babies were calm and confident. The Minotaur was a bloodthirsty, savage beast, but even at that young age they had a special way with animals.

They gurgled hungrily and tugged the Minotaur's mane again. Slowly the beast rose and smiled-it was the first tender, unhating smile of his life. He considered the problem of feeding the babies, he clawed through Brigitta's remains, but she was no use for milk as he had ripped her body apart. There was plenty of water in the Labyrinth, but the baby needed something more nourishing.

With another warm smile, the Minotaur stooped, held the boys in one hand each , With a gurgle of his own, he held the babies to one of the pools of blood around his feet . They resisted for a moment, but despite their human form, they were of demonic stock. And so, with only the slightest reluctance,they opened their lips and and fed, growing strong on the cooling blood of their butchered mother.

The next few years were the happiest of the Minotaur's miserable, slaughter-filled life. The babies were his only companion, the only people he ever loved or who loved him back. He carried the high on his shoulders as he stalked the young men and women sent to him by King Minos. Some heard them laugh or coo as they fled and wondered where the sound came from. But they never wondered for long.

The children didn't see anything wrong in what they did. They knew nothing but this world of darkness and butchery. The people they killed meant nothing to them. They were creatures to chase, animals to feed on.

When Theseus finally came to the Labyrinth and, through trickery, felled the mighty Minotaur, the boys wept. Vain, proud Theseus was severing the Minotaur's head, to take as a trophy, when he heard the children's sobs. Startled, he followed the sounds to their source and examined them by the light of a torch he had smuggled into the maze.

Beranabus didn't look unnatural. Theseus thought the boys were six or seven years old. He tried to lead the child out of the Labyrinth. "Don't cry," he muttered awkwardly. "The beast is dead. You're free now."

Perseus and beranabus glared at Theseus eyes blazing with a yellow, fiery light. Theseus quickly backed away. He hadn't been afraid of the Minotaur, arrogantly sure of his success. But these children unnerved him. The boys were an unexpected find and Theseus wasn't sure what to make of him.

"Come with me now or I'll leave you," he snapped.

The boys growled at him, and much to Theseus's surprise ran to the dead best and hugged him glaring at Theseus with demonic yellow eyes.

"Stay here then," Theseus pouted, turning his back on the children, deciding to leave the Minotaur's head intact. If people questioned him afterwards, he would say the beast fought valiantly, so he'd decided to have him whole as a mark of respect.

Following a trail of thread to safety, Theseus wound his way out of the Labyrinth to take his place among the legendary heroes of that time, alongside the likes of Heracles, Jason and Achilles.

He left the orphaned boys alone in the darkness, weeping over the corpse of the slain, demonic beast. He assumed the children would die in the shadows of the maze, unnoticed by the world. Life was cheap and Theseus didn't think the boys would be any great loss. The slayer of the Minotaur was a shallow, shortsighted man who cared only about his own reputation. He could never have guessed that Beranabus and perseus would outlive and outfight every legendary warrior of that golden age, and eventually prove themselves to be the greatest heroes of them all.


	2. beranabus's POV

*don't own the demonata or PJO)

After the death of the Minotaur, the years of wandering began. Neither had any difficulty finding their way out of the Labyrinth. they had explored every last alley of the maze. It had been home to them and they knew it intimately.

Sunlight disturbed the boys. Having grown up in darkness, the world of light seemed unbearably bright. They tried to brave the glare, but the pain was too great. Weeping, they retreated. Not knowing about the outside world, they assumed it would always be this bright, the way the Labyrinth had always been dark.

When the sun dropped and the sky darkened, they cautiously crept out again. It was still a lot lighter than they liked, but they were able to adjust to the shades of the night world. They looked back once at the Labyrinth, feeling sad , remembering the good times, riding high on the Minotaur's shoulders, feeding on the fresh blood and meat of the beast's kills. Then, reluctantly, they turned their back on their childhood home and set off to explore this new, peculiar world.

The boys split up going in different directions each beginning their own path...

Beranabus was a simple child. He couldn't speak. He could understand some of what other people said, but not everything. Most of the world was a mystery to him, filled with beings who made a huge amount of noise and fought lots of battles for no reason that he could see.

He shouldn't have lasted long in such a hostile environment.

But Beranabus had a remarkable gift, which saved him when he first entered the world-he could tame the wildest of creatures and find friendship in the most unlikely places. Wherever he went, he was accepted. People took him into their homes, gave him passage on carriages and boats, fed and clothed him, treated him with kindness and love.

Many took pity on the boy and sought to keep him and raise him as their own. But Beranabus liked to wander. After the confines of the Labyrinth, the open space of the world intrigued him and he wanted to see more of it. So, without any real design or purpose, he always moved on, slipping away from those who yearned to root him, feeling nothing more for them than he did for the dirt beneath his feet or the air whispering through his hair.

One day, when the boy was on the brink of his teenage years (although he'd been alive for more than two centuries), he witnessed a demon on the rampage. The monster had crossed near a small village and was busy killing as many humans as it could before it had to return through the window of light to its own universe.

The demon reminded Beranabus of the Minotaur. He had come a long way from Crete and seen much of the world and its people, but this was the first demon he'd encountered. The savage beast amused him. It was shaped like an octopus, but with several heads of various animals and birds. He liked the sounds the humans made when the demon killed them, and the patterns their blood created as it arced through the air in streaks and spurts.

He watched the massacre for a few minutes as if enjoying a show. The demon saw him, but didn't attack, mesmerised by the boy's strange aura, as all other dangerous creatures had been.

Murder meant nothing to Beranabus. He didn't understand concepts of right and wrong, good and evil. His mind was a muddled grey zone. Many had tried to teach him, but all had failed. The only difference in his head between a living person and a corpse was that the former was more entertaining.

When the demon retreated, Beranabus was curious to see what the beast would do next, who it would kill, what sort of mischief it would get up to. So he stepped through the window after the demon, out of his mother's universe, into the much darker and spectacularly violent playpen of the Demonata.

Beranabus had a whale of a time in the universe of his father. The demons were far more bloodthirsty than humans. They could kill each other in ways men had never dreamt of. Death didn't have to be swift either. A demon master could torment a lesser demon for decades... hundreds of years... millennia if it wished.

Beranabus drifted with delight from one crazy realm to another. He didn't need to sleep much, or eat and drink. And he aged at an even slower rate than on Earth. He was part of a universe of marvels and it seemed he could go on enjoying it for as long as he liked.

He had to be careful of course. He could tame most demons, but some resisted his charms and tried to capture him. Beranabus was uneducated, but he wasn't stupid. He knew what pain and suffering were, and while he loved to observe the torment of others, he had no wish to become one of the tortured.

That was when he discovered his gift of speed. He could run faster than any demon that chased him. So, on the occasions where he could not tame a demonic beast, he fled, laughing gleefully as he ran, safe in the knowledge that the demon would soon lose interest in him and abandon the chase for easier pickings. In the Demonata's universe there was always something else to kill.


	3. beranabus's POV2- bec

Windows were plentiful. Although demons could only cross to the human world with the aid of a malevolent magician or mage, many could travel from one zone to another in their own foul realm. Their universe was an endless parade of blood-drenched worlds and galaxies. Some of the stronger demons could even create infinite, self-contained zones of their own, which somehow nestled within the larger, unified demon universe.

Whenever Beranabus tired of a realm, he searched for a window and usually found one quickly. He never worried about what he would encounter on the other side. Uncertainty and potential peril were all part of the delight of his life.

Eventually, inevitably, he stepped through a window to the human world. He knew he'd crossed universes as soon as he sniffed the air-it was less charged with magic. Instinct urged him to retreat, but curiosity tempted him on. A long time had passed-he could tell from the buildings around him-and he wanted to see what the people were like, how they varied from those he'd known, if they died any differently.

In the demon universe, windows could remain open indefinitely. He assumed that was the case here as well, but he was wrong. He spent only a handful of minutes in the town-just enough to realise that demons were far more interesting than humans-but when he returned to the spot where the window had stood, it was gone. He was stranded, a captive of the world where he had first begun.

When Beranabus discovered to his dismay that windows of magic were incredibly rare on this world, he travelled with fiery intent, hitching lifts with armies and traders,riding and sailing to the furthest reaches of civilisation. He was desperate to return to the universe of the fantastical demons.

This was the first time Beranabus's brain stirred actively. Until then he had wandered neutrally, observing whatever he chanced across. But now he went in search of something specific and moved with a purpose, carefully choosing those he travelled with, deliberately setting out to explore fresh locations full of promise.

As his brain took its first developmental staggers forward, he unconsciously learnt a few words and mimicked the speech of those he hitched rides with, although most of the time he only uttered gibberish. His mind was still a confused, chaotic country, full of storms and whirlpools. But he had taken the first steps towards understanding and intent, and the world-the universes-would never be the same for him again.

Some years later the boy found himself on an island, set at the westernmost limit of the known world. Demons had broken through and established a permanent tunnel. Thousands of monsters had flooded the land. They were terrorising the locals, laying siege to the villages and towns, slaughtering all in their path.

Beranabus eagerly trudged around the country in search of the tunnel, admiring the torments perpetuated by the Demonata. But as he moved from one village to another, a dim sense of unease grew within him. He felt nothing substantial for the dead humans he saw every day, or the terrified living who would soon be butchered by the demons. But something about their plight troubled him. He had changed inside, and although the change was slight, it had altered his view of slaughter.

Human suffering was different to what he'd seen in the demon universe. On this world, those who survived mourned for the dead. Demons laughed at death, but people here cared about their families and friends. Beranabus found it hard to wring pleasure from their pain. It was too... human.

His unease made him more determined than ever to find the tunnel and leave this world. In the Demonata's universe he could revert to his old ways and simply revel in the merciless mayhem. He didn't like the way he was changing. The world was more fun if you could enjoy it with complete abandonment, untouched by the misery of others.

As he instinctively learnt and practised new words, Beranabus sometimes tried to mutter his name aloud. He could remember what his mother called him, but he couldn't pronounce it. The closest he could get was "Bran". Those who heard him took it to be his name. Having a name was a new experience and Beranabus found it oddly comforting. He started to mutter "Bran" every time he met someone new, so they would know what to call him, but his mind was still a jumbled mess and he occasionally forgot.

After a time, as he was resting in a village on a tiny island at the centre of a lake, Bran came in contact with a druid called Drust. Bran sensed that Drust was also on a mission to find the tunnel. So, instead of moving on, he remained in the village and even let Drust send him to find others to assist him on his quest. Bran didn't know that the druid planned to close the tunnel, and he wouldn't have cared if he did. As long as he could race through before it shut, back to the universe of the demons, he would be content.

Finding people to help Drust wasn't easy. The druid was very precise in his request, demanding not just warriors, but a being of magic. Ideally he needed a fellow druid or priestess, but failing that, he'd settle for someone who had a healthy magical talent, even if it was undeveloped.

Bran didn't understand all that, but Drust meddled with the boy's mind, magically implanting his requirements. Bran had the power to counter the druid's influence, to break the spell Drust had woven around him. But he needed Drust to find the tunnel, so he accepted the druid's orders.

He tried in his befuddled way to recruit a band for Drust at several villages without success. At most there were no people of sufficient magic, and at two where there were, the people dismissed him as a mad child.

Finally, late one evening, he came to a ringed fort. He could sense a person of magic within-a young woman-but had no great hope of attracting her to his cause. Squatting outside the village wall, he waited for the curious warriors to come and examine him, as they had everywhere else. But when the door opened, the magician accompanied the warriors, and for Bran everything altered.

The woman-little more than a girl-looked no prettier than any other her age. Her power was unremarkable. The land was littered with hundreds like her. In his time Bran had sniffed with disinterest at beautiful princesses and powerful priestesses.

But something about this girl struck him hard. He showed no outward sign of it, and couldn't even express his feelings clearly to himself. But the moment he saw the girl-Bec-he fell madly and completely in love. It was love he had not known since his early years with the Minotaur, love he would never know again until she returned to him after many centuries of captivity. And although he couldn't voice his feelings, he knew on some deep level that he would do anything for this girl, kill if needed, give his own life for hers if he must.

So it was that Beranabus at last, without intention or knowledge of what it would mean, put his demonic interests behind him and became a real human.


	4. percy

*I do not own the demonata or PJO*

Like his brother Percy also saw a demon, but unlike his brother who followed Percy hated them from the beggining especially this one which looked very much like Theseus but with batwings and a scorpions tail, it was attacking a small group of girls dressed in silver.

Realising he felt stronger with the window open he killed the demon by hitting it with a chair and forcing the splinters to grow piercing the creatures major organs.

With the demon dead Percy focused on the mage who opened the window focusing on the brain of the demon worshipper he forced it to melt and after several long moments of focus closely followed by several minutes of screaming the mage fell down dead, his head scorched and blackened.

The window no longer being held open by the mage disintegrated and the demon's body rotted to nothing.

Happy with a job well done Percy continued walking paying no attention to the girls in the slightest. That was until they surrounded him. "Who are you BOY" a small auburn girl asked in ager. Percy looked t her in shock and replied with "maybe the question you should be asking is who am I not GIRL." The girl narrowed her eyes at him and the girl next to her, a raven haired black eyed beauty shot a silver arrow at him. Percy observed the arrow and focused on it slowing down. It was harder without the window open but the arrow stopped in mid air and dropped to the ground,

The auburn haired walked towards him and grabbed him by the arm looking into his eyes and his mind, after several long and tedious minutes she staggered backwards and looked at him slightly impressed. "I truly am sorry for your loss Perseus, both your mother and your...your well father." Perseus nodded to her in acknowledgement before thunder rattled in the background. Perseus noticed she looked saddened and wondered why, when she said " I truly wish I didn't have to do this but my father wishes to see you on Olympus " Perseus looked at her in confusion but nodded and she teleported them to Olympus


	5. olympus

*my name is neither Darren shan nor rick Riordan I don't own demonata or PJO*

Up on Olympus Zeus was ranting about the poor boy and sounded rather upset that he seemed stronger than most other demigods. When Artemis appeared with him he immediately began his 'this boy is dangerous' propaganda. And noticed with a large amount of personal satisfaction that all but Artemis, Apollo, Ares and Athena agreed with him. He was about to call up a vote when Athena offered up a different idea "Father why don't we make him think he's a demigod we could trick the fates into believing he's the son of one of your brothers and change his memories to suit this, with Thalia, a tree we could use him to complete the prophecy." Zeus thought over this idea and agreed looking at his wife he told her "Hera change the boys memories so that he is a son of Poseidon then put him in a deep sleep until the prophecy begins, when it does plant memories on some demigods so they think they know Thalia and plant memories of them in the tree my daughter must play a part In the prophecy, actually give similar memories of every demigod who know of us, thethalia ones not the boys". Hera nodded and before Perseus could do anything Hera shot a beam of light at him, the last thing he saw was Artemis with an apologetic look on her face.

_2000 years later_

A trip to a museum eat

Roman stuff.

I know-it sounds like torture.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble. Boy, was I wrong. the Lightning Thief

Read FULL book NOW

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her, " I mumbled.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter. "

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it. " I started to get up, but Grover pulled me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation, " he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens. "

Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked Nancy Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into.

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour. He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone col-umn with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of inter-esting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawnhe would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey, " real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real seri-ous, and said, "You're absolutely right. "

Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you shut up?"

It came out louder than I meant it to. The whole group laughed. Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Mr. Jackson, " he said, "did you have a comment?"

My face was totally red. I said, "No, sir. "

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I looked at the carving, and felt a flush of relief, because I actually recognized it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right

"Yes, " Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because ... "

"Well... " I racked my brain to remember. "Kronos was the king god, and-"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Titan, " I corrected myself. "And ... He didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, hetricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters-"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"-and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans, " I continued, "and the gods won. "

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids. '"

"And why, Mr. Jackson, " Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted, " Grover muttered.

"Shut up, " Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I thought about his question, and shrugged. "I don't know, sir. "

"I see. " Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doo-fuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson. "

I knew that was coming.


	6. minotaurs back

*I don't own demonata and PJO...do I have to keep saying this?*

I told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go- intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question, " Mr. Brunner told me.

"About the Titans?"

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it. "

"Oh. "

"What you learn from me, " he said, "is vitally impor-tant. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson. "

I wanted to get angry, this guy pushed me so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman per-son who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C- in my life. No-he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral He told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurri-cane blowing in.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school-the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah, " I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean-I'm not a genius. "

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he said, "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

9|Page I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kickedout again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends-I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists-and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops. " She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray- painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper. " But I was so mad my mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see-"

"-the water-"

"-like it grabbed her-"

"Come with me, " Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her. "

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood, " she 's okay, man, " I told him. "Thanks for trying. "

"Honey, " Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now. "

Nancy Bobofit smirked. "But-"

"You-will-stay-here. "

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, man, " I told him. "Thanks for trying. "

"Honey, " Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now. "  
>Nancy Bobofit smirked.<p>

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure.

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel. I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it..."You've been giving us problems, honey, " she said.

I did the safe thing. I said, "Yes, ma'am. "

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me I said, "I'll-I'll try harder, ma'am. "

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson, " Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain. "

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book. "Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't... "

"Your time is up, " she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger. As she flew at me, there was a roar and standing in front of me was a man with a swimmers body covered in fur a bulls head and regal looking horns, holding a sword, the minotaur it leapt forward 400lbs of pure muscle and strength, the maths teacher lasted all of 2 seconds and the Minotaur turned round.


	7. beranabus POV-3

**Bec POV**

Beranabus thought his world had ended when I died despite having a brother he thought that he had died as well. He'd been developing while we were together, the disjointed fragments of his mind linking up, learning to think and reason as other humans did. My magic helped. Unknown to me, I smoothed out many of the creases inside his brain, opening channels which were blocked. Perhaps, deep down, I loved him as he loved me. I was certainly fond of the strange boy.

When the rocks closed, trapping me in the cave with Lord Loss and his familiars, Beranabus went wild with grief. He tried to carve through the wall, using small stones and his bare fingers. When that failed, he kept vigil for several months, drinking from the waterfall inside the cave, abandoning his post only to catch the occasional rabbit or fox.

He held long, garbled conversations with himself in the darkness. Time got confused inside his head and sometimes he thought he was in the Labyrinth and the Minotaur was hiding behind a stalagmite. He'd repeat my name over and over, along with his own-he managed to say "Beranabus" for the first time in the cave. He wept and howled, and sometimes tried to bash his head open on the rocks. Normally he stopped before damaging himself, but a few times he knocked himself unconscious, only to awake hours later, scalp bruised and bloody, his ears ringing.

He knew I was dead, the rock wouldn't open, that I'd never step out and throw my arms around him. But for a long time he clung to the belief that a miracle would return me to the world. Then, one day, without warning, he kissed the rock, climbed to the surface and staggered away, with no intention of ever coming back.

Beranabus retraced our steps, following the route we'd covered from the shoreline to the cave. He hoped, by doing so, to recall any small memories of me that he might have forgotten. His vague plan was to march west to the shore, then back inland to the crannog where I'd first met Drust, finishing up at my village. After that... he didn't know. Thinking ahead was a new experience for him and he found it hard to look very far into the future.

When he reached the shore and gazed down over the cliff where we'd sheltered, to the ever-angry sea below, his plan changed. Grief exploded within him and he saw only one way to escape it. He'd had enough of demons and humans, slaughter and love. He didn't know much about death, but the many corpses he'd seen over the centuries had all looked peaceful and unthinking. Maybe he wouldn't feel this terrible sense of loss if he put life and its complicated emotions behind him.

Beranabus smiled as he stepped off the cliff and fell. His thoughts were of me, the Minotaur and Perseus his brother . He knew nothing of the possibility of a life after death, so he had no hope of seeing us again. His only wish was that our faces were the last images in his thoughts when he died.

The water was colder than he expected and he shouted with alarm when he hit. But as he sank into the new subterranean world, he relaxed. The cold wasn't so bad after a while, and though he didn't like the way the salt water washed down his throat, he'd experienced more unpleasant sensations in the universe of the Demonata.

That should have been the end of him, an anonymous, pointless death as Theseus had predicted so many centuries before. But beings of ancient, mysterious magic dwelt nearby and they were watching. Known to humans as the Old Creatures, they'd once controlled the world. Now they were dying, or had moved on, and only a few were left.

Some of those lived in a cave beneath the cliff which Beranabus jumped off-they were the reason Drust had gone there in the first place. They sensed the boy's peculiar brand of magic and curiously probed the corridors of his mind. The Old Creatures took an interest in the drowning boy and instead of letting him drift out to sea and a welcome death, they drew him to the cave against his will. He washed up on the floor, where he reluctantly spat out water and instinctively gasped for air, even though he would rather have suffocated.

When Beranabus could speak, he roared at the pillars of light (the Old Creatures had no physical bodies). He knew they'd saved him and he hated them for it. He cursed gibberishly, trying to make them explain why they hadn't let him die.

"We Have Need Of You," the Old Creatures answered, the words forming inside the boy's brain. "You May Be Able To Help Us."

Beranabus roared at them again, and although he couldn't express his feelings verbally, the Old Creatures knew what he wanted to say.

"Yes, She Is Dead, But Her Soul Has Not Departed This World. She Can Return To You." Beranabus squinted at the shifting lights. "If You Remain With Us, Let Us Teach And Direct You, And Serve As We Wish, You Will Meet Your Bec Again."

The promise captivated Beranabus and filled his heart with warmth and hope. It didn't cross his mind that the Old Creatures could be lying, and he never wondered what they might ask of him. They'd said he'd see his young love again-that was all that mattered. Putting dark thoughts and longings for death behind him, he presented himself to the formless Old Creatures and awaited their bidding, leaving them free to mould and do with him as they wished.

Beranabus could never remember much of his time with the Old Creatures, even though he spent more than a century in the cavern. They taught him to speak and reason, completing his evolution from confused child to intelligent young adult.

As his intellect developed, he came to believe that the Old Creatures had lied about my return. He didn't blame them-he knew it was the only way they could have calmed and controlled him. He accepted my death and moved on. He was older and wiser, tougher than he'd been as a child, and although he still loved and mourned me, he had other issues to focus on. He had demons to kill.

Beranabus hated the Demonata-they'd slaughtered his beloved-and the Old Creatures encouraged this hatred. They showed him how to open windows to the demon universe and explained how he could channel magic to kill the beasts. They sent him on his first missions, directing him to specific spots, targeting vulnerable demons.

Beranabus never questioned their motives. He assumed that everyone on this world hated the demons as much as he did, even though the Old Creatures were not of the human realm and seemed to be under no threat. They were more powerful-in this universe at least-than the Demonata, so they had nothing to fear from them.

As he developed a taste for killing, Beranabus spent more and more time in the demon universe, using the cave of the Old Creatures as a base which he visited rarely, when he needed to sleep, treat his wounds and recover.

One night, after an especially long spell butchering demons, he returned to the cave and the Old Creatures were gone. He would have known it even if he was blind. The magic had faded from the air and it now felt like a cold, dead place.

In a panic, Beranabus scaled the cliff which he'd hurled himself off many decades before and searched frantically for the Old Creatures. He found traces of them in a place called Newgrange. Druids had claimed the celestial dome and worshipped and studied the stars from there. But it had been built by the Old Creatures, who used it as a navigational point when travelling between worlds.

One of the Old Creatures was waiting in the gloom of the dome for Beranabus. It took the form of a small ball of swirling light, less grand than any of the pillars had been in the cave. "It Is Time For Us To Go," the Old Creature said. "We Must Leave This Planet."

Beranabus went cold. Without the protective magic of the Old Creatures, the world would be at the mercy of the Demonata.

"You're abandoning us!" Beranabus cried angrily.

"We Are Leaving," the Old Creature agreed, "But We Have Left You In Our Place. You Must Guard This World Now."

"I can't protect humanity by myself," Beranabus exploded. "I can't be everywhere at once, stop every crossing or kill every demon who makes it through."

"No," the Old Creature said calmly, "But You Can Try."

"Why?" Beranabus groaned. "Why desert us now, when we need you most?"

"Our Time Has Passed," the Old Creature said. "You People Must Fend For Yourselves Or Perish. We Cannot Protect You Forever." As Beranabus started to argue, the Old Creature hushed him. "We Have One Last Thing To Tell You, One Final Mission To Send You On!"

"I won't be your servant any longer," Beranabus snarled, tears of rage hot in his eyes.

"There Was A Force Once, A Weapon Of Sorts," the Old Creature said, ignoring his protest. "The Kah-Gash. It Shattered Into A Number Of Pieces Which Have Been Lost Ever Since. You Must Search For Those Fragments And Reunite Them."

"I don't understand," Beranabus said, intrigued despite his bitter fury.

"The Kah-Gash Can Be Used To Destroy An Entire Universe. If The Demonata Find The Pieces And Assemble Them, They Can Annihilate This Universe And Remove Every Last Trace Of Mankind. But If You Find Them..."

"...I can destroy their universe!" Beranabus exclaimed.

"Perhaps," the Old Creature said. And then it was gone, the ball of light shooting through the hole in the roof, streaking towards the stars, not even bidding Beranabus farewell.

Beranabus had a hundred questions he wanted answered, but there was no one to ask. He could feel the loss of the Old Creatures in the air. They'd left artefacts behind-lodestones charged with powerful Old magic-but their influence would fade with time, opening the way for more demon attacks.

He had to act quickly. The Old Creature hadn't said as much, but Beranabus assumed there were demons looking for the Kah-Gash and he would have to race against them to find the missing pieces. It occurred to him that the demons might have been searching for millions of years, but that didn't deter him. He was arrogant. He believed he would succeed where the Demonata had failed, find the weapon and deliver the ultimate blow.

Setting off through the countryside, he steeled himself for what was to come. He sensed it wouldn't be easy, that it might take centuries-or longer-to locate all the pieces. But he would triumph eventually. Nothing could stand in his way. In his youthful arrogance he believed this was his destiny and that if he needed more time to complete his mission, he could even defy death if he had to.


	8. father and son

***mesa no own PJO or demonata* AN the minotaur (Beranabus and Percy's ADOPTED dad has mind powers in this)**

_"Your time is up, " she hissed._

_Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons._

_Then things got even stranger. As she flew at me, there was a roar and standing in front of me was a man with a swimmers body covered in fur a bulls head and regal looking horns, holding a sword, the minotaur it leapt forward 400lbs of pure muscle and strength, the maths teacher lasted all of 2 seconds and the Minotaur turned round._

Percy backed away slowly fully expecting the creature to attack him. much to Percy's shock the beast spoke "Perseus my son." Percy's eyes widened before he scoffed "im sorry mate do I look like a cow to you?" the monster chuckled before he looked into Percy's mind and growled "they stole your memories" he snarled. Percy's eyes widened "really" he asked "no" the minotaur replied sarcastically "I said that because I totally didn't mean it." Percy rolled his eyes "so Miney can you give them back?" The minotaur groaned "but it hurts...fine" he moaned before placing his hands on Percy's head and focusing.

Images ran through Percy's head and he saw his entire past from the minotaur through to the Olympians erasing his memories. He gasped as the memories flooded back and looked at the minotaur in awe before leaping forward and catching it in a hug. The minotaur pulled back from the hug and smiled at him "go to camp, get claimed then find your brother and don't let death kill him" he ordered.

Percy nodded and hugging his adopted father he left and went to camp.

TIME SKIP AN may be confusing just go with it I'll explain later

I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns. The Minotaur, but this one was different. He was smaller and less regal looking.

I swallowed hard. "Who is-"

"Percy, " my mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car. "

My mother threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" my mother told me. "Percy-you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?"

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line, " my mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door. "

Mom, you're coming too. "

Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean. "No!" I shouted. "You are coming with me. Help me carry Grover. "

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands-huge meaty hands-were swing-ing at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... Was his head. And the points that looked like horns ...

"He doesn't want us, " my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line. "

"But... "We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please. "

I got mad, then-mad at my mother, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns that was lumbering toward us slowly and deliberately like, like a bull.

I climbed across Grover and pushed the door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mom. "

"I told you-"

"Mom! I am not leaving you. Help me with Grover. "

I didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, drag-ging Grover from the car. He was surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if my mom hadn't come to my aid. Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist- high grass.

Thief

Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the imposter. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine-bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except under-wear-I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms-which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns-enormous black-and- white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener.

I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's-"

"Pasiphae's son, " my mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you. " she looked nervous  
>'She's lying' Percy thought 'but why'<p>

"But he's not the Min-"

"Don't say his name, " she warned. "Names have power. "

The pine tree was still way too far-a hundred yards uphill at least.

I glanced behind me again.

The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the win-dows-or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuz-zling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh, " I told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?"

"His sight and hearing are terrible, " she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough. "

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

Not a scratch, I remembered Gabe saying.

Oops.

"Percy, " my mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way- directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"How do you know all this?"

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me. "

"Keeping me near you? But-"

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and Grover wasn't getting any lighter.

The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

My mother must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Separate! Remember what I said. "

I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right-it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on me. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat.

He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest

The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, I jumped to the side.

The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bel-lowed with frustration and turned, but not toward me this time, toward my mother, who was setting Grover down in the grass.

We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as my mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it.

The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing my mother, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover.

"Run, Percy!" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!"

But I just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He

Thief

lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mom!"

She caught my eyes, managed to choke out one last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around my mother's neck, and she dissolved before my eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form, as if she were a holographic projection. A blinding flash, and she was sim-ply ... Gone.

"No!"

Anger replaced my fear. Newfound strength burned in my limbs-the same rush of energy I'd gotten when Mrs. Dodds grew talons.

The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, snuffling my best friend, as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too.couldn't allow that.

I stripped off my red rain jacket.

"Hey!" I screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid! Ground beef!"

"Raaaarrrrr!" The monster turned toward me, shaking his meaty fists.

I had an idea-a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all. I put my back to the big pine tree and waved my red jacket in front of the bull-man, thinking I'd jump out of the way at the last moment.

But it didn't happen like that.

The bull-man charged too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way I tried to dodge.

Time slowed down. "TAUROS" a voice yelled, the person Percy knew as his adopted father stood there, the Minotaur joined the battle


	9. how to kill your identical twin

The two beast launched at each other intent on destroying the other, Percy watched in awe as each grappled for control of the other before the Minotaur grabbed the imposter by the horns and pulled ripping the fakes head clean off the neck. The fake flailed, clawing at his neck, then began to disintegrate-not like my mother, in a Flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart.

The monster was gone. So was the rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. I smelled like livestock and my knees were shaking. My head felt like it was splitting open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief I'd just seen my mother vanish. I wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover, needing my help, so I managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farm-house. I was crying, calling for my mother, but I held on to Grover-I wasn't going to let him go. The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, "He's the one. He must be. "

"Silence, Annabeth, " the man said. "He's still conscious. Bring him inside. " I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food. The others ripped heads off.

I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she saw my eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I managed to croak, "What?"

She looked around, as if afraid someone would over-hear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry, " I mumbled, "I don't... "

Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding.

The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He had blue eyes- at least a dozen of them-on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful, " a familiar voice said. Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover, Not the goat boy.

So maybe I'd had a nightmare. Maybe my mom was okay. We were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And ...

"You saved my life, " Grover said. "I... Well, the least I could do ... I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this. "

Reverently, he placed the shoe box in my lap.

Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood. It hadn't been a nightmare.

"The Minotaur, " I said lying through my teeth.

"Urn, Percy, it isn't a good idea-"

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" I demanded. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull. "

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"My mom. Is she really ... "

He looked down.

I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother was gone that sucks.

"I'm sorry, " Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm-I'm the worst satyr in the world. "

He moaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, I thought, Well, that settles it I'm gonna find dear old Beranabus as soon as I'm claimed.


	10. bec pov

I step through the window and find myself on a highly polished wooden floor. There are no walls or ceiling, only a clear blue sky and glaring sun far overhead. I squint and cover my eyes with a hand. When my pupils adjust, I slowly lower my hand and stare around with awe.

We're surrounded by water-we must be on a boat. Everywhere I look, an ocean stretches ahead of me, small waves lazily rippling by. I've only seen the sea once before and that was from the safety of land. Finding myself stranded in the middle of it makes me feel sick. Even though the floor is steady, my legs seem to wobble beneath me and I have to fight to calm my stomach.

"Easy, Little One," Beranabus murmurs, touching my arm and smiling.

"It's so vast," I whisper, eyes round.

"Aye, but it's only the sea. You've nothing to fear."

"But the monsters..." I catch myself. In my time we thought the sea was home to an array of terrors. Now I know that isn't so. I remind myself that I'm not living in the fifth century any longer. Frowning at myself for overreacting, I order my legs to steady and my stomach to stop churning.

Breathing more calmly, I pivot slowly and study the vessel on which we've landed. We're on the deck of a massive ship, a luxury cruise liner, but its grandeurs have been spoilt by a recent, vicious attack. Deckchairs are strewn everywhere. We're close to a swimming pool-the water is red and there are bodies floating in it. A man lies spread-eagled on a diving board, blood dripping from his throat into the water. More corpses dot the deck and some are draped over deckchairs.

There are carcasses everywhere. Freshly dead, with blood oozing from them. Men, women and children. Some are in crew uniforms, others in swim wear or casual clothes. Apart from the soft dripping noises of the blood, there's no sound, not even the chug of an engine. The boat is as dead as the butchered passengers and staff.

As I gaze with horror at the carnage, the more experienced Sharmila checks a few of the bodies to ensure they're beyond help. "Juni could not have killed all these people by herself," she says quietly.

"She could," Beranabus grunts, "but I don't think she did. You can see different marks if you look closely. A group of demons had a party here."

"Where are they now?" Dervish asks, fingers flexing angrily.

"That's what I'd like to know." Beranabus walks to the diving board, steps on to it and pushes the body off into the water as if it was a rubbish bag-he can be as detached as a demon when he needs to be. The splash disturbs the silence. We wait edgily, but nothing reacts to the noise.

"Are you sure Dervish and Sharmila are safe here?" I ask Kernel, trying to find something other than the corpses to focus on. "There's magic in the air, but I'm not sure it will hold."

"It's secure," he assures me. "We wouldn't have brought them over if we had any doubts. We're surrounded by a bubble of magical energy. The entire ship's been encased."

"Like the town of Slawter," Dervish notes, then tugs anxiously at his beard. "This bubble-it's pretty impenetrable?"

"Yes," Kernel says.

"So if the window to the oasis blinks out of existence, we're trapped."

Kernel smiles. "Don't worry. I'll keep it open. That's what I excel at."

Beranabus returns from the diving board. "They must have a lodestone on board. No demon could maintain a shield like this without a lodestone."

Lodestones are stones of ancient-Old-power. Demons can use them to seal off an area and fill it with magic. That lets them operate as if they were in their own universe. They can use them to open tunnels as well, if the stone is especially powerful. But they need human help. They can't do it alone.

Lodestones are rare. When the Old Creatures inhabited the Earth, they used the stones to help keep back the Demonata. But in their absence the demons learnt to turn the magic of the stones against the humans they were originally intended to protect. Beranabus scoured the world for lodestones centuries ago and destroyed as many as he could find, or sealed them off like the one in Carcery Vale. But some evaded him and remain hidden in various corners of the world. Every so often a mage or demon tracks one down and trouble ensues.

"Is Juni still here?" Dervish asks Kernel.

"Yes," I answer first. "I sense her near the bottom of the ship."

"This feels like a trap," Sharmila mutters.

"Aye," Beranabus says. "But you learn to live with traps when you're chasing demons." He looks around. "Are there any others, Bec?"

I let my senses drift through the areas below deck. "There's one demon with Juni. Not very powerful. If there are others, they're masking themselves."

"There's a window open down there," Kernel says.

"Fairly ordinary. Only weaker demons can cross through it."

"Could there be armed humans?" Dervish asks.

"Perhaps," I mutter. "Humans are harder to sense than mages or demons."

"We can handle a few soldiers," Beranabus barks. "I'll turn their guns into eels-see how much damage they can do with them then!"

"We should go back," Sharmila says. "Juni has set this up to ensnare us."

"Why would she be expecting us?" Dervish argues.

"Lord Loss may have reasoned that we would target Juni. Perhaps everything-the attacks on Dervish, Juni revealing herself on the roof of the hospital-was designed to lure Beranabus here. The demon master might be poised to cross and finish us off personally."

"Not through that window," Kernel insists.

"Then through another," she counters. "We have never been able to explain why Lord Loss can cross when other masters cannot, or how he goes about it."

Beranabus considers that, then sighs. "You could be right, but we might never get a better shot at Juni. If she's not expecting us, it's the perfect time to strike. If she is and this is a trap, at least we can anticipate the worst. The magic in the air means she'll be dangerous, but it serves us as much as her. If Lord Loss doesn't turn up, we can match her. If he does cross, we'll make a swift getaway."

"Are you sure of that?" Sharmila scowls. "If we have to open a new window..."

"We won't," Beranabus says. "Kernel will stay here and guard our escape route. You'll know if any other windows open, won't you?"

"Yes," Kernel says.

"Then keep this one alive and watch for signs of further activity. If you sense anything, summon us and we'll withdraw. Is everyone satisfied with that?"

He looks pointedly at Sharmila. She frowns then shrugs. Taking the lead, Beranabus picks his way across the bloody, corpse-strewn deck and the rest of us cautiously, nervously follow.

My feet are soon sticky with blood, but I ignore my queasy feelings. This isn't the way the world should be, having to creep through pools of blood, past dozens of slaughtered humans. But when you find yourself in the middle of a living nightmare you have two choices. You can cower in a corner, eyes shut, praying for it to be over. Or you can get on with things and do your best to deal with the job in hand. I don't think I'm particularly brave, but I like to think I've always been practical.

We undertake a circuit of the upper deck before venturing into the depths of the ship, making sure there aren't any surprises waiting for us up here if we have to make a quick getaway. We don't find any demons or soldiers in league with the Demonata. Just one corpse after another, slowly frying beneath the merciless sun.

We're passing a row of lifeboats when I feel a twitch at the back of my eyes. It's the subtlest of sensations. I'd ignore it any other time. But I'm trying to be alert to the least hint of anything amiss, so I stop and focus. The twitch draws me to the third boat ahead of us. It hangs from hooks high above the deck.

"What is it?" Beranabus whispers. I feel magic build within him. He's converting the energy in the air into a force he can use.

"Somebody's there." I point to the lifeboat. "A man. Hiding from us. He's using a masking spell."

"Get ready," Beranabus says to the others. He points a finger at the hooks. They snap and the boat drops abruptly, landing hard on the deck. The man inside it yelps and tumbles out as the boat keels over.

Sharmila and Dervish step ahead of Beranabus, fingers crackling with pent-up magic. The man shrieks and wildly raises his hands, shouting, "I surrender!"

"Wait!" Sharmila snaps, grabbing Dervish's arm. "I know him."

The man pauses when he hears Sharmila's voice. He stares at her shakily as if he doesn't believe his ears or eyes.

"Kirilli Kovacs," Sharmila says.

"I... I recognise you... I think," he croaks.

"We met several years ago. You were with Zahava Lever. She was your mentor. My name is Sharmila-"

"-Mukherji," the man says, breaking into a big smile. "Of course. Zavi spoke very highly of you. She said you were a great Disciple, one of the finest. I should have recognised you immediately. My apologies. It's been a hard few..." He frowns. "I was going to say days, but it's only been hours."

"This is one of your lot?" Beranabus sniffs. We're all a bit mystified. The man is wearing a dark suit, but there are silver and gold stars stitched into the shoulders and down the sides. He sports a thin moustache and is wearing mascara. He looks like a stage magician, not a Disciple.

"This is my cover," he explains sheepishly. "I ran into fiscal complications..." He clears his throat. "Actually I gambled away my cash and my credit card was taken from me by a woman in... but that's another story. I had to get on the ship. I could have used magic but it was easier to get a job. So I did, as Kirilli the Konjuror. I've used this disguise before. It's always been effective. I can put on a first-rate stage show when I have to."

"Your standards are slipping," Beranabus says to Sharmila. "I might have to review the recruiting policy of the Disciples."

"I'm of a first-rate pedigree, sir," Kirilli snaps. "Even the best of us can fall prey to the occasional vice." He tugs the arms of his jacket straight and glares.

"Zahava said Kirilli was an excellent spy," Sharmila says. "He is very adept at trailing people and hiding from them. The fact that he survived the massacre here is proof of that. The Disciples need spies as much as they need warriors."

"Precisely," Kirilli huffs. "There's a man for every job, as my dear departed father used to say."

"I bet he worked in sewerage," Dervish says drily.

Kirilli flushes, but ignores the jibe. "By the way," he says stiffly, "I didn't catch your names."

Beranabus shrugs. "This is Dervish Grady. That's Bec. I'm Beranabus."

Kirilli's jaw drops and he loses his composure completely.

Beranabus winks at me. "I have that effect on a lot of my idolising Disciples."

"Only until we get to know you," Sharmila mutters, then addresses Kirilli again. "Can you tell us what happened? Swiftly, please-we do not have much time."

"That's really Beranabus?" Kirilli says, wide-eyed. "I thought he'd look more like Merlin or Gandalf."

"He'll turn you into a hobbit if you don't start talking," Dervish growls.

Kirilli blanches, then scowls. "I was tracking a pair of rogue mages," he says, adjusting his bow-tie-I spot a playing card up his sleeve. "They were planning to open a window."

"Why didn't you stop them?" Dervish asks.

"They were working for somebody else, taking orders from a superior. I wanted to expose their partner. I felt that was more important than stopping the crossing, although I hoped to do that as well."

"No prizes for guessing who their boss was," Dervish grimaces. "Ugly cow, disfigured, covered in pus and blood?"

Kirilli nods and shivers. "They were in regular contact, but I couldn't get a fix on who they were talking to. From what I overheard, it sounded like there were no imminent plans to open the window. They made it sound like they'd be on the boat for months, waiting for an order to act.

"They either knew I was eavesdropping and said that to fool me, or there was a change of plan. Either way, they opened the window earlier today. About twenty demons spat through and set to work on the crew and guests. I managed to shield myself. That's all I could do. There was no point fighting them-I wouldn't have stood a chance." He looks at us appealingly.

"You did all you could," Sharmila says kindly. "You are a spy, not a warrior. Besides, Disciples never fight when the odds are stacked against them. You have no reason to feel guilty."

Gratitude sweeps across Kirilli's face. "I expected the window to close after a few minutes but it stayed open and there was more magic in the air than I've ever experienced. The demons went on torturing and slaughtering. They took most of the people below deck. Maybe the sun bothered them and they wanted to do their work in the shade."

"No," Beranabus grunts. "Lodestones need blood. They were feeding it."

"What's a lodestone?" Kirilli asks but Beranabus waves at him to continue. "Balint and Zsolt- the mages-remained up top. They did their share of killing but nothing to compare with the demons. Not long before you lot arrived that woman... that thing crawled up from below." He shudders. "I wasn't sure if she was human or Demonata. I'm still not certain."

"I doubt if she knows herself anymore," Beranabus says softly.

"She barked orders at the demons and they killed the last few survivors," Kirilli goes on. "Then they retreated through the window and the woman said a spell to close it. Balint and Zsolt were grinning, mightily pleased with themselves, but she turned on them. Melted them into twin pools of bloody goo. Laughed as they screamed for mercy. Told them they were fools to trust the word of a monster. She lay down and wallowed in their juices when they were dead, then went below deck. That's when I climbed into the lifeboat."

"Interesting," Beranabus murmurs. Then he winks at Sharmila. "This definitely stinks of a trap."

"So we will leave?" Sharmila asks eagerly.

Beranabus chuckles. "I've walked into more traps over the centuries than I can remember. The Demonata and their familiars think they're masters of cunning but they haven't got the better of me yet. Let Juni and Lord Loss spring their surprise. I'll blast a hole in it so big, you could sail this ship through."

"Are you sure?" Dervish asks uneasily. "Juni was your apprentice. She knows all about you. Maybe you have a weak spot which she plans to exploit."

Beranabus shrugs. "I love a challenge."

"I really do not think we should-" Sharmila begins.

"We've no choice," Beranabus snaps. "She's our only link to the Shadow. It's a gamble, but this is a time for gambling. I don't think you understand the stakes. This is the end game. We don't have the luxury of caution. If we don't risk all and find out who the Shadow is and what its plans are, the world will fall." He waves at the corpses around us. "A world of this, Sharmila. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not," she mutters.

"Then trust me. We're precariously balanced and I might be testing one trap too many, but we can't play safe. It's all or nothing now."

"You truly believe matters are that advanced?" Sharmila asks.

"Aye." Beranabus's eyes glitter. "The Disciples have exercised caution over the years because there have always been other battles to fight. But this could be the final battle. Ever. Better to risk all on a desperate gamble than play it safe and hand victory to the Shadow. Aye?"

Sharmila hesitates, then smiles shakily. "Aye. If we fail, at least I will have the pleasure of saying, 'I told you so'."

"That's the spirit," Beranabus booms and heads for the nearest door. Without any sign of fear he leads us down into the bowels of the ship in search of the vile viper, Juni Swan.


	11. claimed by Poseidon claimed for death

**Time skip... Read the book nothing really changes.**

"Percy, " Annabeth said, pointing. "Um ... "

By the time I looked up, the sign was already fading, but I could still make out the hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident.

"Your father, " Annabeth murmured. "This is really not good. "

"It is determined, " Chiron announced.

All around me, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin, though they didn't look happy about it.

"My father?" I asked, completely bewildered.

"Poseidon, " said Chiron. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God. "

WooP tee do was the first thing that came to percys head.

Becs POV

We progress in single file, Beranabus leading, Sharmila second, then me and Kirilli, with Dervish bringing up the rear. As we start down the first set of steps, Kirilli whispers, "Care to let me know what's going on? I caught some of it but I'm in the dark on a lot of issues."

"There's a powerful new demon called the Shadow," I explain. "We need to find out more about it. Juni-the mutant you saw-possesses information."

"And all that talk of a trap...?"

"We think Juni or Lord Loss may have lured us here, that they might be trying to trap us. This could all be a set-up."

"The plot thickens," Kirilli says, trying to sound lighthearted, but failing to hide the squeak in his voice. "Any idea what the odds are? I'm a gambling man, so I knew where Beranabus was coming from when I heard him talking about the need to take risks. But I like to have an idea of the odds before I place a bet."

"We honestly don't know," I tell him.

He makes a humming noise. "Let's say two-to-one. Those are fair odds. I've bet on a lot worse in my time."

He's trembling. This is a new level for him. The wholesale slaughter on the deck shook him up and now he's being asked to disregard Disciple protocol-run when the odds are against you-and fight to a very probable death.

"You don't need to come with us," I murmur. "We left someone up top to keep our escape route open. You could wait with him."

Kirilli smiles nervously. "I'd love to, but I've always dreamt of standing beside the legendary Beranabus in battle. I was never this scared in my dreams, but if I back out now I won't be able to forgive myself."

We start down a long corridor. There are bodies lying in tattered, bloodied bundles at regular intervals. I wonder how many people a ship this size holds. Three thousand? Four? I've never heard the death screams of thousands of people. The noise must have been horrible.

"Have you fought before?" I ask Kirilli, to distract myself.

"Not really," he says. "As Sharmila said, I'm a spy. Excellent at sniffing out intrigue and foiling the well-laid plans of villainous rogues like Zsolt and Balint. But when it comes to the dirty business of killing, I'm more a stabber in the back than a face-to-face man. Never saw anything wrong with striking an opponent from behind if they're a nasty piece of work."

"I doubt if Juni will turn her back on you. The best thing is to trust in your magic and try not to think too much. If you're attacked, use your instincts. You'll find yourself doing things you never thought possible."

"And if my instincts come up short?" Kirilli asks.

Dervish snorts behind us. "That'll be a good time to panic."

Kirilli frowns over his shoulder at Dervish. "It's rude to eavesdrop."

"I'm a rude kind of guy," Dervish retorts. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. Hang back when we get there, fire off the occasional bolt of energy-at our opponents, not us-and try not to get in anyone's way."

"I can tell you're a true leader of men," Kirilli says sarcastically.

"Quiet," Beranabus snarls. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Sorry, boss," Dervish says, then sticks his right hand under his left armpit and makes a farting noise. We all giggle, even Beranabus. It's not unnatural to laugh in the face of death. It's not an act of bravery either. You do it because you might never have the chance to laugh again.

We descend slowly, exploring each level, wary of booby traps. But there are no secret windows, no army of demons, no humans packing weapons.

We pass a mound of bodies, mostly uniformed crew. They armed themselves with axes, knives, flares-whatever they could find-and tried to block off the corridor with bulky pieces of furniture. The demons ripped through them. They never stood a chance.

The lights suddenly snap off. Kirilli gasps and grabs my hand. I get images of his previous, limited encounters with demons, his stage act, the tricks he performs. He wanted to be a famous magician when he was young. Practised hard, but didn't have the style. Good enough for clubs and cruisers, but he never had a real crack at the big time. He was pleased when he joined the Disciples, proud of his talent. But he'd have much rather succeeded in showbiz, where the worst he'd have ever had to face was being booed off stage.

Emergency lights flicker on. There's a harsh metallic ripping sound somewhere far below. It echoes through the ship. The floor shudders, then steadies.

"Turbulence?" Beranabus asks.

"You only get that on planes," Dervish says. "It could be the roll of the sea but I doubt it. Have you noticed the lack of movement? We haven't tilted since we came aboard. The ship's been steady, held in place by magic."

"I knew there was something strange," Kirilli growls. "I get terrible seasickness. I have to take pills to keep my food down. But I've been feeling fine for the last few hours. I thought I'd found my sea legs at last."

The ripping noise comes again, louder than before. It reminds me of a noise Bill-E heard in a film about the Titanic, when the iceberg sliced through the hull and split it open.

"Any idea what's going on down there?" Dervish asks.

Beranabus shrugs. "We'll soon find out."

We press on.

Eventually we hit the bottom of the ship. Except there isn't much left of it. When we step into the cavernous hold, we instantly see what the noises were. The lowest layer has been peeled away. A huge hole has been gouged out of the hull, twenty-five or thirty metres wide, stretching far ahead of us, through the middle of the hold and up the walls at the sides. Water surrounds the gap, held back by a field of magic. If that field was to suddenly collapse, the sea would flood through and the ship would sink swiftly.

There are bodies all over the place, but a huge pile is stacked in the centre of the floorless hold, resting in a heap on the invisible barrier. It looks like they're floating on air.

The tip of a large stone juts through the covering of corpses. Red streaks of blood line the cracks and indentations of the ancient stone. The bodies around it are pale and shrivelled. The stone has drunk from them. I recall the stone in the cave where I was imprisoned, when I sacrificed Drust, how it sucked his blood. These stones of magic are alive in some way. The Old Creatures filled them with a power we no longer understand.

A demon stands to attention behind the stone. He has a squat, leathery body and a green head, part human, part canine. A large, surly mouth. Four hairy arms and two long legs. Floppy ears. His white eyes are filled with fear and he holds himself rigidly, as if standing still against his will.

There's a grey window of light a few metres from the stone and demon. In front of it, grinning lopsidedly in her warped, pus- and blood-drenched new form, is the monstrous Juni Swan.

"You took your time getting here," she snarls.

"We stopped for a bite to eat," Dervish quips. Sharmila is studying the demon. Beranabus is looking at Juni with a mixture of sadness and disgust. Kirilli is just gawping.

"What happened to you?" Beranabus asks quietly.

"Don't you like my new body?" Juni croons, posing obscenely. "I preferred my old frame, but this is what I'm stuck with. The price of cheating death."

"How did you survive?" Beranabus presses, the pity in his voice vanishing in an instant. "Dervish killed you. I felt your soul leave. Did Lord Loss have the Board with him? Is that how he pulled off this trick?"

Juni shakes her head smugly. "That's for me to know and you to guess, old man." She looks at the rest of us, sneering spitefully. "I told them you'd come. My master said you wouldn't be so foolish, but I knew you would. You're arrogant. You never let the threat of a trap put you off. I always knew your ridiculous self-belief would prove your undoing-and so it has."

Beranabus stares at his ex-assistant, shaken by her hideous appearance and the mad hatred in her expression. "How did it come to this?" he croaks. "Life with me can't have been worse than what you're going through now."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Juni says. "You were far worse than Lord Loss. I serve him willingly, by my own choice, but I was a slave to you, with no say over what happened to me."

"But-" Beranabus starts.

"No!" Juni barks. "You're not worth arguing with." She glares at the rest of us. "You can choose too. You don't have to serve this fool or perish with him. Join me now and live. Stay loyal to him and die."

Dervish laughs. "You've lost your marbles. Nadia Moore would have known that wasn't an option. Even Juni Swan could have seen that it's a no-brainer. But you've become something warped and inhuman. Do you honestly believe any of us would throw in our lot with a thing as twisted and insane as you?"

Juni's lips tremble and the skin around her cheeks cracks in a series of tiny channels. "How dare you speak to me like that!"

"You were my love," Dervish says. "I'll speak to you any way I like."

She starts to curse him, then restrains herself and giggles. "We'll be lovers again, darling Dervish. I'll keep you alive in a body even more wretched than this. I'll lavish you with torment and pain. You'll beg me to kill you, every single day for the rest of time, but I won't."

"Sounds nasty," Dervish yawns.

"Um, I don't know how these things normally work," Kirilli speaks up, "but shouldn't we be ripping her into a million pieces instead of trading insults?"

"Don't knock the insults," Dervish growls. "This is the best part of a fight. If you don't get the digs in at the beginning, there'll be no time later."

"Who is this charlatan?" Juni huffs, glaring at Kirilli.

"A Disciple," Beranabus says. "A friend and assistant, as you once were."

"Assistant only," Juni corrects him. "Never a friend."

"You were Kernel's friend," Sharmila says softly. "You saved his life, even after you had turned traitor. Do you hate him too? Will you kill him along with the rest of us if you get the chance?"

"Without blinking," Juni says coldly. "I warned him not to get in my way again. I might not kill him today-if he has any sense, he'll slip away when the rest of you are dead-but I'll catch up with him soon. It's the end of mankind's reign. Within a year we'll cleanse Earth of its human fungus and take the world forward into a new demonic era. Your precious billions are living on borrowed time, Beranabus, but you reckless fools don't even have that. Which is where Cadaver comes in..." She nods at the demon behind the lodestone.

"Cadaver?" Beranabus frowns.

"He stole the demon which was masquerading as Kernel's brother," Sharmila reminds him.

Cadaver whines and strains his neck. He's not a willing participant in this. He's a prisoner. When he opens his mouth and speaks, we learn who his captor is.

"Greetings, my brave, doomed friends."

Cadaver's lips are moving, but the words and accent aren't the demon's-they belong to the sentinel of sorrow, Lord Loss.

"A cheap trick," Beranabus grunts. "Too afraid to face us in person? Reduced to speaking through a puppet?"

"Why not use Cadaver's mouth?" Lord Loss counters, speaking from his realm in the Demonata's universe. "I gave it to him. I could have made use of any of my familiars, but I thought this one most fitting. Such a pity Kernel isn't here. I'm sure Cadaver's appearance would have revived many fond memories."

"I have had enough of this," Sharmila growls. She takes a step forward and raises her hand, taking aim at Cadaver.

"Wait," Beranabus stops her. "He's close to the lodestone. If we kill him, his blood will drench it."

"Will that make a difference?" Sharmila asks.

Beranabus grimaces. "I doubt he's there for show."

"Astute as always," Lord Loss murmurs through the unfortunate Cadaver. "You would have made a fine demon, Beranabus. You have wasted your talent on a far inferior species. But it's not too late to change. Join us. Live forever as one of the rulers of the universes."

"Live forever?" Beranabus laughs. "Nonsense! All things die. That's the nature of existence."

"Nature is about to be reversed," Lord Loss says.

"By who?" Beranabus asks. "Your shadowy master? What's his name? I can't serve him if I don't even know his name."

Lord Loss tuts. "No names, not unless you join us."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Beranabus sniffs. "And I don't think you really expected me to switch sides. So why are we here? Do you want to gloat before your master kills us?"

"No," Lord Loss says. Cadaver's head swivels and his eyes fix on me. "We want Bec."

Beranabus, Dervish and Sharmila shuffle towards me, forming a protective barrier. I'm touched by their show of support.

"What do you want with me?" I ask in a small, trembling voice.

"Your piece of the Kah-Gash, of course," Lord Loss says.

Beranabus puts a hand on the nape of my neck. His fingers are shaking. By reading his thoughts, I understand why. Though I'm afraid, I place my hand over his and squeeze, giving my assent.

"You can't have her," Beranabus croaks. "I won't let a piece of the Kah-Gash fall into your foul hands. I'll kill her first."

"But you love her," Lord Loss gasps with mock shock.

"Aye," Beranabus says. "But I'll kill her anyway."

Kirilli is gawping at us, confused and dismayed. Dervish and Sharmila look distraught but resigned.

"Then kill her," Lord Loss purrs and I catch a glimpse of his wicked leer in Cadaver's terror-stricken eyes. "It makes no difference. If she dies, the piece will be set free and faithful Juni will capture and deliver it to our new master. Death isn't an obstacle to us, not any longer.

Beranabus squints at Cadaver, not sure if this is a bluff.

"The piece was originally mine," Lord Loss says petulantly. "It lay dormant within me for hundreds of thousands of years. But when I shared my magic with Bec, back when I wished to preserve humanity, it slipped from my body into hers." Cadaver shakes a hairy finger at me.

"It can move from one being to another?" Beranabus frowns and his thoughts move quickly. He uses a spell to communicate directly with me. Give it to me, he whispers silently. Pass it on.

I can't, I reply. I don't know how.

"Master," Juni interrupts. "This window will close soon. If I am to return to your side, we must act now."

"Of course," Lord Loss says. "Wait a few moments more, my dear. Then you can come home."

Cadaver bends forward over the lodestone, but his eyes remain rooted on us. "I must say farewell, old friends," Lord Loss murmurs. "I don't think any of you will survive the coming battle. You have caused me much displeasure over the years, but I shall miss you."

His eyes settle on Dervish and he smiles. "Don't worry about how Grubitsch will cope without you. He walked into a trap, just as you did. He will be dead soon if he isn't already."

Dervish hisses and starts to respond, but Lord Loss is looking at Sharmila now. "There will be much chaos before the end," he tells her. "Humanity will be given time to scream before we cleanse the universe of its miserable stain. I will track down those you love and execute them personally. I will lavish extra attention on the children and babies."

Sharmila is close to tears, but she holds them back and curses Lord Loss foully. He chuckles and his gaze flickers to Kirilli. The stage magician braces himself. "Go on," he snarls manfully. "I can take any threat you dish out."

"I don't know who you are and I have no interest in you," Lord Loss says dismissively, and Kirilli deflates.

"Bec," the demon master hums, staring at me directly. "It has been such a long time since our paths-"

"Let's get out of here," I snap, backing away from the lodestone and the mound of dead bodies, having no desire to listen to more of his rhetoric.

"Aye," Beranabus says, retreating beside me. He thrusts a hand in Juni's direction, but she darts through the window before he can strike. A crazy, lingering cackle is her only parting shot at us.

"Very well," Lord Loss sighs. "Let the slaughter commence."

Cadaver's head explodes and the demon's blood soaks the lodestone. It glows beneath the stack of corpses, sucking the blood as it pumps from Cadaver's neck. A bolt of light shoots from the base of the stone, down through the watery layers of the sea, disappearing a second later into the murky depths below.

We should run. It's crazy to linger. But we're held, captivated, curious to see what will happen. This is new even to Beranabus, who's seen virtually everything in his time.

For a few seconds-nothing. Then a ball of light rises from the darkness of the ocean floor. It's larger than the ball which shot downwards, and expands the closer it comes. There's a dark glob at the centre, almost like a pupil in an eye. It's a long way off, but I'm certain it's the Shadow. A strange, tingling energy washes into the ship, saturating the air around us. I've never felt any magic quite like it.

"Enough!" Beranabus shouts. "Let's get out before it tears through the hold and rips us apart."

We surge towards the door, a terrified Kirilli leading the way, Sharmila behind him, then me. Dervish and Beranabus bring up the rear, preparing themselves to fight off the Shadow.

Just before we get to the door, something moves nearby. It's one of the humans. A woman. Her arms are twitching and her head is rising slowly. The demons must have mistakenly left her for dead.

"Wait!" I yell, breaking left. "There's a survivor." I bend over the woman, grab her arms and haul her to her feet. "Come on. We have to get out. I'll help..."

I come to a sickening halt. The woman's face is missing from the nose down. Scraps of her brain trickle down her chest as she gets to her feet, through the gap where her jaw should be. She can't be alive, yet she's looking at me. But not with warmth or gratitude-only with hunger.

My mind whirrs and I realise what's happening. But before I can yell a warning, dozens of corpses around us thrash, slither, then rise like dreadful ghouls. The dead are coming back to life!

The revived dead throw themselves at us slavishly, mindlessly, silently. They move as fluidly as in life, not in the shambling manner of movie zombies. Some are hampered by the loss of limbs and stumble sluggishly. But most are as quick on their feet as any living person.

They look more like living people too. They're not rotting, misshapen monsters. It's easy to rip the head off an inhuman beast from another dimension, but doing that to someone who looks human feels like murder. It's horrible.

The woman I picked off the floor tries to claw my throat open. I shove her away and turn to kick a man in the head before he bites my thigh. Ahead of me, a girl throwsherself down the stairs and knocks Kirilli over. She snaps at his left hand and chews off his two smallest fingers. He screams, then sets her aflame, instinct lending him the magical fighting impulse which he previously lacked.

"Zombies!" Dervish snorts with disgust, scattering a handful with a ball of energy. "First werewolves, then demons, now zombies. What will they throw at us next?"

"There might not be a next," Sharmila says, helping Kirilli to his feet and shooting a bolt of fire up the stairs. There are shrieks from the zombies above us and the stench of burning flesh and hair fills the air. Sharmila grimaces, but sends another burst of flames after the first.

"You're not worried about this lot, are you?" Dervish says, sending more of the living corpses flying across the hold. "We can handle them. We've faced a hell of a lot stronger in our time."

"You miss the point," Sharmila replies with forced calm. "The dead are meant only to delay us. There is our true foe." She points to the centre of the hold. The ball of light is almost level with the ship. As we watch, it breaks around the hull and disintegrates. A black, hissing ball of nightmares explodes through the shield of energy and gathers around the lodestone.

We only got a glimpse of the Shadow that night in the cave. Here, in the lights of the hull, it's revealed in all its furious glory. The creature is the general shape of a giant octopus, about fifteen metres broad, ten metres tall, covered in a mass of long, countless, writhing tendrils, which whip around the lodestone, tightening and loosening as the creature saps strength from the ancient stone. A few of the living dead wander too close to the lodestone and are beheaded by some of the knifelike tentacles-the Shadow doesn't suffer fools gladly. The beast doesn't seem to have a face, but I'm sure it sees us and is focused upon us.

As I gaze with horror at the massive, pulsing creature of shadows, a fat man trailing guts hurls himself at me, gnashing his teeth. I flick him away with the wave of a hand and shuffle closer to Beranabus. He's eyeing the Shadow warily.

"It doesn't feel like a demon," I note.

"I know," he mutters.

"Can we outrun it?"

"We can try."

"The stairs are free," Sharmila calls. "But more of the dead are coming. If we are to flee, we must do so now."

"What are we waiting for?" Kirilli yells. He hasn't managed to cauterise his wound. Blood spurts from the jagged stumps where his fingers used to be.

"You think we can fight it?" Dervish asks, stepping up beside Beranabus.

"I don't know."

The window Juni escaped through blinks out of existence. That seems to decide Beranabus. "Let's test it," he grunts, moving away from the door, back towards the lodestone. "Maybe it's not as powerful as it thinks."

He unleashes a ball of bright blue magic at the Shadow. The ball strikes the creature directly and crackles around it. Its tendrils thrash wildly, then return to their almost tender caressing of the lodestone. Its body continues to throb. A high piercing sound fills the hold-I think the Shadow's laughing at us.

Sharmila bends, touches the invisible barrier where the floor should be and creates a pillar of fire. It streaks towards the lodestone, slicing through several zombies on the way. When it reaches the Shadow, Sharmila barks a command and it billows upwards, forming a curtain of flames. The Shadow's consumed, its tendrils retracting like a spider's legs shrivelling up. But when the flames die away, it emerges unharmed, oozes over the lodestone and slides towards us.

Dervish leaps through the air and chops at a thick tendril. He cuts clean through it, severing the tip. The amputated piece dissolves before it hits the floor, crumbling away to ash.

The Shadow catches Dervish with another tentacle, roughly shakes him, then flings him across the hold. Beranabus halts Dervish's flight and the spiky-haired mage drops to the floor a few metres in front of the magician, gasping with pain, his skin burnt a bright pink where the tendril touched him.

"Stuff this!" Kirilli pants, and darts up the stairs. I let him run. No point trying to make him fight if he doesn't want to. Besides, I doubt he could make much of a difference.

About a dozen walking corpses converge on me. I work a quick blinding spell, then plough through them as they mill around. I squat by Dervish as Beranabus and Sharmila engage the Shadow, and swiftly cool his burnt flesh.

"Are you OK?" I ask as he sits up, dazed.

"Three," he mutters. When I frown, he smiles sheepishly. "Sorry. I thought you asked how many fingers you were holding up."

I help him to his feet. He gulps when he looks at the Shadow, but advances to try again.

"What can I do?" I shout at Beranabus.

"Get out," he roars. "You're the one it's after."

"But I can't-"

"Go!"

Cursing, I turn and run. Before I'm even halfway to the door, I feel a whoosh of hot air on my back. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the Shadow directly behind me. It's swept past Beranabus and his Disciples, barrelling them aside. They lie sprawled on the invisible floor. They're picking themselves up, turning to help me-but too late.

The Shadow seizes me with several tentacles and lifts me high into the air. I scream, pain filling all parts of my body at once. It's like being on fire, except the agony cuts deeper than any natural flame, burning through flesh and bone, turning my blood to vapour.

I somehow hold myself together. It takes every last bit of magic that I possess, but I fight the terrible, fiery clutch of the Shadow and wildly restore blood, bones and flesh as it grips me tighter and tries to fry me again. I'm absorbing memories from the beast, mostly garbled, but what I comprehend is more terrifying than I would have considered possible.

The Shadow's surprised I'm still alive. It meant to slaughter me and absorb the freed piece of the Kah-Gash. But it's not dismayed by my resistance. The beast is much stronger than me and knows it simply has to keep applying pressure. I can last a matter of seconds, no more. Then...

Beranabus is suddenly beside me, bellowing like a madman. He slashes at the tentacles, slicing through them as easily as Dervish did. The Shadow is more of a menace than any demon I've ever faced, but it's insubstantial. It's not by nature a physical creature. It can easily and quickly replace what we destroy, but it can't harden itself against our blows.

I fall free and Beranabus drags me away. Sharmila and Dervish dart into the gap we've left and attack the Shadow with bolts of energy and fire. It makes a squealing noise and lashes at them with its tentacles. They duck and dodge the blows, punching and kicking at the tendrils.

"Go!" Beranabus gasps and tries to throw me ahead of him.

"Wait," I cry, holding on. "I know what it is."

"Tell me later," he roars. "There's no time now."

He's right. I won't have the chance to explain, not with words. But I have to let him know. He thinks he can defeat this beast, that if they keep working on the tendrils, they'll eventually chop their way through to the body. He believes they can kill it, like any other demon.

He's wrong.

I clutch his small, clean hands and use the same spell he used earlier to bypass the need for words. He gasps as I force-feed him the information. Then his eyes widen and a look of shocked desperation crosses his face.

"How?" he croaks.

"I don't know," I sob.

Sharmila screams. The Shadow has ripped one of her legs loose. It rains to the floor in a shower of bones and flesh. A few of the zombies fall on the remains with vicious delight.

Beranabus is thinking hard and fast, trying to turn this in our favour. He's always been able to outwit demons who were certain they'd got the better of him.

Even in recent years, ancient, battered, befuddled, his cunning gave him a crucial advantage. He can't believe it will fail him now, but he's never had to deal with anything like the Shadow.

The lines of his face go smooth. He half-nods and his lips twitch at the corners. My heart leaps with hope. He's seen something. He has a plan!

"Tell Kernel," he wheezes, standing straight and scattering a horde of zombies as if swatting flies. "Tell him to find me."

"You want me to send Kernel down?" I frown. "But he's not a fighter. He-"

"Just tell him to find me," Beranabus sighs, then bends and kisses my forehead. "I loved you as a child, Bec, and I love you still. I always will."

Through the brief contact, I catch a glimpse of what he's planning. It's perilous. He probably won't make it out alive. But it's the only way. Our only hope.

"Don't watch," he says, and his voice is guttural, unnatural, as his vocal cords begin to thicken and change. "I don't want you to see me like this." There's a flash of light and Percy is standing there. "Hello brother" he says


	12. brothers vs shadows

**AN- sorry ive decided im gonna temporarily kill off bran but he will return**

Beranabus looks up in shock "Perseus but how" he asks voice still demonic . Percy just glares at him "talk later fight now " he replies stiffly "now hang on" he continued clicking his fingers the brothers glowed golden "there we go the demons inside of us are now under our control go for it bro but try not to die." Beranabus nods "youll take over if I fall" he asks his brother. Percy nods himself. Beranabus smirks He whirls away and bellows at the Shadow, an inhuman challenge. Dervish and Sharmila glance back, astonished by the ferocity of the roar. Their faces crumple when they see what Beranabus is becoming.

I back away slowly, but I can't obey Beranabus's final command. I have to look. Besides, he thought my feelings would alter if I saw him in his other form, but they won't. If you truly love someone, you don't care what they look like.

Beranabus is transforming. He outgrows his suit, which falls away from him like a banana peel. His skin splits and unravels. Bones snap out of his head, then lengthen, fresh flesh forming around them. Muscles bulge on his arms and legs, like pustulent sores. They burst, then reform, even larger than before. Tough, dark skin replaces his natural covering. Only it's not really skin-more like scales.

A tail forces its way out through the small of Beranabus's back. It grows to two metres... three... four. Spikes poke out of it, as well as several mouths full of sharp teeth and forked tongues.

I catch sight of his face. Purplish, scaly skin. Dark grey eyes, round like a fly's, utterly demonic. His mouth is three times the size of my head, filled with fangs that look more like stalactites and stalagmites than teeth. Yellowish blood streams from his nose but he takes no notice. Raising his massive arms, he pushes through the undulating nest of tentacles and hammers a fist at the Shadow, driving it back.

"What the hell is that?" Dervish croaks, backing up beside me, helping the one-legged Sharmila along.

"Beranabus," I answer quietly. "The Bran we never saw. The demon side that he kept shackled. This is what he would have looked like if he'd let his father's genes run free, if he'd chosen the way of the Demonata."

Beranabus lashes the Shadow with his tail. The spikes rip through the shadowy wisps of its body, the teeth snapping at it, tearing open holes. The Shadow shrieks angrily but the holes quickly close and the beast fights without pause, smothering Beranabus with its tentacles.

Dervish, Sharmila and I are by the doorway. We should take advantage of the situation and race up the stairs. But we're mesmerised. We can't flee without knowing the outcome. Sharmila clears the stairs of zombies, to keep the route out of the hold open, but she doesn't take her eyes off the battling pair.

"Can he control himself like that?" she asks quietly as the behemoths wrestle.

"Yes he can" Percy replied for her. Sharmila looks at him in curiosity "who are you" she asks. "I am beranabus's brother and before you ask I was frozen in time" Percy answered. Sharmila nodded.

The beast that was Beranabus shrugs free of the Shadow's tentacles and staggers away. For an awful moment I think that he's about to attack us. But then he bellows at the Shadow and darts past it, making for the lodestone.

"Ah!" Sharmila exclaims with sudden hope. "If he breaks the stone..."

"...the Shadow will be sucked back to its own universe," I finish.

"We hope," Dervish adds gloomily.

Finding its path to me unexpectedly clear, the Shadow lunges forward, eager to finish me off. Then it pauses. It doesn't glance back-as I noted earlier, it doesn't have a face-but it's somehow analysing Beranabus. There's a brief moment of consideration-can it kill me and steal the power of the Kah-Gash before Beranabus breaks the stone?

The Shadow decides the odds are against it and reverses direction, launching itself at the transformed magician. It catches him just before he reaches the lodestone. The pair spin past. Beranabus roars with frustration as he shoots beyond his target. The Shadow whips him with its tentacles. Deep cuts open across his arms and legs, and many of the protective scales on his chest and back shatter under the force of the blows.

Just before they fly out of striking distance of the lodestone, Beranabus's tail twitches. The tip catches a notch in the stone and Beranabus jerks to a halt. The Shadow loses its grip and ends up in a heap. It's back on its tentacles within seconds but Beranabus has already jerked himself within reach of the lodestone.

He grabs the stone with his massive hands and exerts great pressure, trying to snap it in half. There's a cracking sound and a split forms in the uppermost tip of the rock. But then it holds and although Beranabus strains harder, it doesn't divide any further.

The Shadow hurls itself at Beranabus and lands on his back. Tendrils jab at him from all directions, destroying his scaly armour, penetrating the flesh beneath. One of his grey eyes pops. Several of his fangs are ripped from his jaw. Blood flies from him in jets and fountains.

Beranabus howls with agony, but otherwise ignores the assault and focuses on the lodestone. He's still trying to tear it in two. The stone is pulsing. The split at the top increases a few centimetres. The gap's just wide enough for Beranabus to jam his unnaturally large fingers into it. Snapping at the Shadow with the remains of his fangs, he transfers his grip to the crack, gets the tips of all his fingers inside and tugs.

There's a creaking sound, then a snapping noise, and the stone splits down the middle to about a third of the way from the top. Beranabus yells with triumph, wraps both arms around the severed chunk of rock and rips it free of the lodestone, tossing it to the floor as an oversized ball of waste.

The Shadow screeches and scuttles after the rock, perhaps hoping to reattach it. I quickly unleash my power and send the piece of stone shooting across the hold. It smashes into the side of the ship and explodes in a cascade of pebbly splinters.

Beranabus roars with ghastly, demonic laughter and bites into one of the Shadow's tentacles. As he rips it off, another tendril strikes the side of his head and slices through to his brain. The triumph that had blossomed within me vanishes instantly.

"Bran!" I scream and dart towards him. Dervish holds me back.

The Shadow strikes repeatedly at Beranabus in a tempestuous rage. It gouges great chunks of flesh from his chest and stomach. Scraps of lung, slivers of a heart and other internal organs splatter the broken lodestone. Then, in a childish sulk, the Shadow tosses him aside like an old doll it's finished playing with.

The demonic beast that Beranabus has become rolls over several times before coming to a rest near the side of the hull. Again I try to race to his aid, but Dervish has a firm hold and doesn't let go even when I bite him.

Beranabus raises his huge, transformed, scaly head. He glances at the Shadow and the lodestone with his one bulbous grey eye and grins. Then his head swivels and he looks for me. When he finds me struggling with Dervish, his grin softens and I see a trace of the Beranabus I knew in the expression. I also see the boy he once was-scatterbrained Bran. He smiles at me foolishly, the way Bran used to, and gurgles something. I think he's trying to say, "Flower."

Then the grey light in his eye dims and extinguishes. The smile turns into a tired sneer. He coughs up yellow blood and tries to drag himself forward. But the strength drains from his arms. His body sags. A jagged breath dances from his lips and his head drops. By the time his forehead connects with the cold steel floor of the hold, the three thousand year old legend is part of this world no more. Perseus watched sadly as his brother died before he glared at the squirming shadow, flames wrapped around him and faded to reveal that his flesh consumed by hellfire, causing his head to become a flaming skull his hands are also skeletal and he wears a black leather jacket with spikes. He pointed at the shadow and streams of hellire sprung from his hands destroying the evil entities body for a short time.

Percy returns to his normal form wished me and the others luck gave one sad look to his brother and flashed out...bastard.I want to rush to Beranabus's corpse and bid him farewell. I'm weeping and all I want is to be by my dead friend's side. But that's not possible. Because now that the lodestone's magic has evaporated, the shield keeping the sea at bay has started to give way.

The fragments of the lodestone fall first, trickling through cracks in the invisible barrier. Water seeps up through the cracks, spreading neatly across the surface of the shield. Then one of the living dead stumbles and drops out of sight as if crashing through a thin layer of ice.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" Dervish shouts, hauling me through the door.

"Beranabus!" I cry.

"We can't help him now," Dervish pants. As he says it, the shield flickers out of existence and water floods the hold.

The ship lurches. A wave of foaming water surges towards us, washing away the helpless bodies of the zombies. We should be washed away too, but Sharmila acts swiftly to avert catastrophe, establishing a barrier around us and the doorway. The wave breaks and seethes away, the sea temporarily cheated of its victims.

"Quick," Sharmila gasps, hopping up the stairs. "The magic is fading. The barrier will not hold."

She's right. I can feel the energy ebbing away at a frightening rate. I look one last time for the body of Beranabus, but the ocean has already claimed it. Wiping tears from my cheeks, I hurry after Dervish and Sharmila, knowing that if we don't climb sharply, we'll soon be joining Beranabus in his watery grave.

We move a lot slower going up than we did coming down. It's not just the fact that we're climbing. We're tired and drained. We were fine when the air was thick with magic, but the unnatural energy is fading fast.

We're halfway up the second flight of stairs when I hear the sea gush up the corridors behind us. I've no idea how long we have. I imagine it would usually take a ship this size at least a couple of hours sink, but the hole in the hull was extremely large.

The zombies are still going strong. The strange magic of the Shadow which reanimated them is fading slower than the energy we were tapping into. While we're rapidly weakening, the zombies haven't been significantly affected.

We don't use bolts of magic anymore, or arrogantly dismiss them with a wave of a hand. We're reduced to close-quarters fighting. We can still repel them with our charged fists and feet-the magic hasn't disappeared entirely-but there are thousands of zombies. If we're still here when the last of the energy fades, they'll swamp us. Unless the sea claims us first.

Sharmila's second leg fragments. She pumps magic into it to hold the bones and scraps of flesh together.

"Don't bother," Dervish grunts, lifting her. "Save your strength. Get on my back. I'll be your legs. You keep the zombies off."

"What about your heart?" Sharmila shouts.

"It'll hold for a while."

I can move much quicker than Dervish now that he's burdened with Sharmila. I'm tempted to race ahead of them, up through the ship, away from the encroaching water. But they're my friends and they wouldn't desert me if I was in their position. If it becomes necessary to flee, I will. But as long as there's a chance we might all make it out alive, I'll stick with them.

I take the lead, knocking flailing, snarling zombies out of our way, pushing ahead, the undead humans crowding the staircase behind and in front. I should feel fear in the face of such warped, nightmarish foes, but my emotions are focused on Beranabus-there's only room within me for mourning.

I can't believe he's dead. It's hard to imagine a world without the ancient magician. He's been mankind's saviour for longer than anyone should have to serve. What will we do without him? I doubt the Disciples can repel the waves of Demonata attacks by themselves. Beranabus believed our universe created heroes in times of need. If that's true, perhaps someone will replace him. But it's hard to picture anybody taking the magician's place. He was one of a kind.

We hit another level. I'm about to lurch up the next set of stairs when I spot Kirilli Kovacs tussling with a gaggle of zombies. He's in bad shape, bitten and scratched all over. A dozen of the living dead surround him.

I should leave him. He doesn't really deserve to be rescued and I can't afford to waste any of my dwindling power. But I can't turn my back on a man just because he's a coward. Kirilli didn't betray or undermine us-he simply gave in to fear, as many people would have.

Drawing on my reserves, I mutter a spell and gesture at the zombies packed around Kirilli. They fly apart and a path opens. "Run!" I yell. Kirilli doesn't need to be told twice. He stumbles clear of the zombies and is by my side moments later. Blood cakes his face, but his eyes are alert behind the red veil. He starts to say something.

"No time for talking," I snap. "Get up those stairs quick, and if you fall, I'll leave you."

Kirilli flinches, draws a breath, then darts ahead of me, taking pole position, staggering up the seemingly endless flights of steps towards the upper deck and its promise of escape.

As we're forcing our way up another staircase clogged with zombies, Dervish gasps and collapses to his knees. One hand darts to his chest. I think it's the end of him, but Sharmila presses her hands over his and channels magic into his heart. She pulls a stricken face as she helps-the magic she's directing into his flesh means she has less to ward off the pain in her legs. But she has no real choice. Without Dervish to carry her, she's doomed.

Kirilli is struggling with the zombies. He's weak and afraid. He lashes out at them wildly, not preserving his energy or channelling it wisely. I've tried warning him, but he either doesn't hear me or can't respond. He knows only one thing-he has to go up. That's tattooed on his brain, driving him on.

Thankfully the walking corpses are moving more like regular zombies now. Their magic is fading. The attacks are clumsier, less coordinated. But they're still on their feet, our scent thick in their nostrils, licking their lips at the thought of biting into our soft, juicy brains.

As we hit the last step of another flight, Kirilli screams something unintelligible. I'm exhausted, but I push forward in reply to his cry, fearing the worst. But when I clearthe step, I realise it was a yell of exhilaration, not dismay. We're back at the upper deck.

The ship is lurching at a worrying angle, and the deck is littered with hordes of zombies. But we get a fresh burst of hope when we breathe the fresh, salty air.

Dervish lays Sharmila down and squats beside her. "I need... a minute," he wheezes, face ashen, rubbing his chest.

"We can't stop," Kirilli shrieks, knocking over a zombie in uniform who's either the ship's captain or a highly placed mate.

"Shut up," I growl and crouch next to Dervish. "Let me help."

"No," he mutters. "Save your magic... for yourself."

"Don't be a fool." I shove his hands away and rest my left palm on his chest. I pump magic into him, enough to keep him ticking over.

"Do you know the way back to Kernel?" Sharmila asks, wincing from the pain in her thighs. They're bleeding at the stumps, the flesh we knotted together in the demon universe coming undone.

"Yes." I grin at her. "Perfect memory, remember?"

She returns the smile, but shakily. "Perhaps you should leave me here."

"We're not leaving anyone behind," I say firmly. "Except maybe Kirilli."

He stares at me with a wounded expression. "I hope you don't-" he starts.

"Not now," I stop him. My cheeks are dry. I must have stopped weeping at some point coming up the stairs. The ship is slipping further into the water. The angle of the deck to the sea is increasing steadily. Kernel's at the end of the ship which is rising. If we don't act quickly, we won't make it.

"Come on," I command. "One last push. We can rest once we slip through the window."

Dervish sighs wearily but staggers to his feet. He reaches for Sharmila. "Wait," I tell him and glance fiercely at Kirilli. "It's time you proved yourself worthy of rescue. Carry her."

"But I have a bad back," he protests. "I never lift anything heavier than-"

"Carry her," I repeat myself, "or I'll cut your legs off, glue them to Sharmila and let her walk out of here on your feet."

Kirilli gives a little cry of horror. He suspects I'm bluffing, but he's uncertain.

"I am not that heavy," Sharmila chuckles. "Especially without my legs."

"We're nearly there," I tell the stage magician. "You won't have to carry her far."

"Very well," Kirilli snaps. "But if I throw my back out of joint, I'll sue." He flashes me a feeble grin and picks up Sharmila. I help settle her on his back, then push through the zombies converging on us, lashing out with both my small fists, praying for the strength to stay on my feet long enough to guide us all to safety.

I'm almost fully drained. Only a sheer stubborn streak keeps me going. I refuse to fall this close to the end. It happened before, in the cave all those centuries ago. I almost made it out. I could see the exit as the rock ground shut around it. It was horrible to come up short with freedom in sight. I won't taste that defeat again.

Deckchairs and unbolted fixtures slide down the deck. Some of the zombies topple and slide too. Extra obstacles for us to dodge. The end of the ship continues to rise out of the water. A few more minutes and the angle will be too steep to climb. We'll slip backwards to perish with the zombies when the ship's dragged under.

We catch sight of the swimming pool. The window's still open and Kernel's in front of it. But he's struggling with a zombie. There are dozens around him and the window, separated from them by a circle of magic. But one has pierced his defences and is wrestling with him.

"Kernel!" I cry. "Hold on. We're almost with you. We-"

Kernel shouts something in response. He tries to tear himself away from the zombie, then reaches for its head to rip it loose-it's only attached by jagged strips of flesh to the neck. There's a flash of blinding light and we all cover our eyes, Kirilli dropping Sharmila out of necessity.

When I open my eyes a few seconds later, it's like looking at a bright light through several layers of plastic. I blink furiously to clear my vision. When I can see properly, I look for Kernel. The circle where he was is still in place. The zombies around it are all momentarily sightless, stumbling into each other, rubbing their eyes. But the window is gone. And where it stood-where Kernel and the zombie were battling-is an ugly swill of tattered flesh, clumps of guts, fragments of bones and several pints of wasted human , I stare at the spot where Kernel and the window were. I'm not sure what happened. Where did the explosion of light come from? Are those the remains of Kernel and the zombie, or just one of them? Did Kernel slip through the window before it closed or did he perish here, the window blinking out of existence along with its creator?

"Is he dead?" Dervish roars, smashing the nose of a zombie which was about to sink its teeth into my skull.

"I don't know."

"Sharmila?"

She shakes her head uncertainly.

Dervish doesn't bother to ask Kirilli. He glances around, desperation lending a wild look to his already strained features. "The lifeboats," he mutters. "We have to get away from here or we'll be sucked under."

"But-" I begin.

"No time," he barks, staggering towards the nearest lifeboat. "Come on. Don't stand there gawping."

Kirilli moans and stumbles after Dervish, picking up Sharmila without having to be told. She punches weakly at a couple of zombies, not much strength left. We're all firing on our final cylinders. Only the promise of escape keeps us going. But I've thought of something Dervish hasn't. Escape will be more complicated than he thinks.

Dervish is working on a lifeboat when I reach him. He doesn't have the magic to release it, so he's having to manually lower it over the side. Kirilli is helping.

"We had a safety drill a few days ago," Kirilli boasts. "Leave it to me. I know what to do. If we pull this lever here..."

"That's where the oar goes," Dervish growls, pushing Kirilli aside.

The lifeboat slides towards the edge of the ship, but comes to a sudden halt just above the rails. "It's stuck," Dervish grunts, pushing at it, looking for something-anything-else to pull.

"No," I sigh, keeping an eye on several zombies heading our way. "It's the barrier. The ship's still encased in a bubble of magic."

"Nonsense," Dervish snorts. "That's gone. My heart wouldn't be hammering like a pneumatic drill if-"

"The barrier's still there," I stop him. "I don't know how, but it is." I point at the nearest zombie, a woman a long way ahead of the others. "Kirilli, grab her and throw her overboard."

"With pleasure," Kirilli says-the zombie is much smaller than him. He runs across, picks her up and chucks her over the rail. She bounces off an invisible wall and lands on top of Kirilli. As she chews his left forearm he squeals and wriggles free. He kicks her hard, then glares at me. "You knew that was going to happen!"

I ignore the irate conjuror and lock gazes with Dervish. The fight has sapped his strength. He looks like an old man ready for death.

"The barrier might crumble before the ship sinks," Sharmila suggests, more out of wretched hope than any real conviction.

"It's as strong as when we arrived," I disagree. "We could have maybe swum out through the hole in the bottom-the barrier must be breached there, since the water's coming in-but we can't get back to the hold to try."

"The zombies!" Dervish cries, coming alive again. "We can use them to punch a hole through the barrier. I did that in Slawter, exploded a demon against the wall of energy. It worked there-it can work here."

"I'm not sure," I mutter, but Dervish has already set his sights on a zombie. Finding extra power from somewhere, he sends the dead person flying against the invisible barrier and holds it there with magic.

"Sharmila," he grunts. "Blast it!"

The old Indian lady tries to focus, but she's too exhausted.

"Leave this to me," Kirilli says, preening himself like an action movie hero. He slides a playing card out from underneath his torn, chewed sleeve, takes careful aim and fires it at the zombie. When it strikes he shouts, "Abracadabra!" and the card and zombie explode. "There," Kirilli smirks. "I'm not as useless as you thought, am I?"

"Nobody could be," Dervish murmurs, but the humour is forced. The explosion hasn't dented the barrier. It holds as firmly as before.

"They're not powerful enough," I note sadly, felling another zombie as it attacks. "The magic they're working off isn't the same as ours. They're puppets of the Shadow, not real creatures of magic. We could butcher a thousand against the barrier, but it won't work any better than exploding normal humans."

"That's why Juni sent the demons back to their own universe," Dervish groans. "So we couldn't use them if we got away from the Shadow."

"Lord Loss isn't a fool," I smile sadly. "He learns from his mistakes."

"We're finished," Dervish says miserably.

"Aye," I sigh, unconsciously mimicking Beranabus. "All that's left to determine is whether the zombies eat us or if we drown in the deep blue sea."

I stare at the ranks of living dead shuffling towards us. The Shadow's magic is dwindling. Many of the zombies have fallen and lie twitching or still, returned to the lifeless state from which the Shadow roused them. But a lot remain active, clambering up from the lower levels, massing and advancing, hunched over against the sharp, angled incline of the deck. If the ship doesn't sink within the next few minutes, they'll overwhelm us.

"I don't want to drown," Kirilli says softly "I've always been afraid of that. I'd rather be eaten." He tugs at the tattered threads of his jacket, trying to make himself presentable. Facing the oncoming hordes, he takes a deep breath and starts towards them.

"Wait," Sharmila stops him. She's smiling faintly. "Disciples never quit. Zahava must have taught you that. We carry on even when all seems lost. When dealing with matters magical, there is always hope."

"She's right," I tell him. "If Kernel's alive, he might open another window and rescue us. Or I could be wrong about the barrier. Maybe it will vanish before the ship sinks and we can clamber overboard."

"What are the odds?" Kirilli asks.

"Slim," I admit. "But you don't want to surrender to the zombies, only to spot the rest of us slipping free at the last second, do you?"

Kirilli squints at me, struggling to decide.

"Actually I was not planning on a miracle," Sharmila says. "We have the power to save ourselves. We do not need to rely on divine intervention."

"What are you talking about?" Dervish frowns.

"There is a way out," Sharmila says. "We can blow a hole in the barrier."

"You've sensed a demon?" I cry, doing a quick sweep of the ship, but finding nothing except ourselves and the zombies.

"No," Sharmila says. "We do not need demons." She looks peaceful, much younger than her years. "We are beings of magic."

Dervish's expression goes flat. So does mine. We understand what she's saying. As one, our heads turn and we stare at Kirilli.

"What?" he growls suspiciously.

"No," Sharmila chuckles. "I was not thinking of poor Kirilli. I doubt he would volunteer and we are not, I hope, prepared to turn on one of our own and murder him like a pack of savages."

"We'll draw lots," Dervish says quickly. "Kirilli too, whether he likes it or not."

"Draw lots for what?" Kirilli shouts, still clueless.

"There will be no lottery," Sharmila says firmly. "Bec is too young and Kirilli is not willing."

"Fine," Dervish huffs. "That leaves me and you. Fifty-fifty."

"No," Sharmila says. "You must be a father to Bec. She has lost Beranabus. She cannot afford to lose you too."

"Wait a minute..." Dervish huffs.

"Please," Sharmila sighs. "I have no legs. I am the oldest. I have no dependants. And I am now too weak to be of any use-I do not think I could find the power to kill you even if you talked me into letting you take my place."

Dervish gulps and looks to me for help. He wants to persuade her not to do this, to let him be the one who goes out in a blaze of glory.

"Everything she says makes sense," I mumble, practical as always.

"Quickly," Sharmila snaps. "There is almost no magic left. It might be too late already. If you do not act now, it will fade entirely and we will all be lost."

"You're a stubborn old cow, aren't you?" Dervish scowls.

"When I have to be," she smiles.

Dervish checks with me and I nod sadly. We move side by side and link hands. Focusing, we unite our meagre scraps of magic. I wave a hand at Sharmila and she slides across the deck, coming to a stop next to the invisible barrier. She sits up and wipes blood from her cheeks. She smiles at us one last time, then serenely closes her eyes and places her hands together. Her lips move softly in prayer.

Dervish howls, partly to direct our magic, partly out of horror. I howl too. Blue light flashes from our fingertips and strikes Sharmila in the chest. The light drills into her head, snapping it back. For a moment her form holds and I fear our power won't be strong enough.

Then the light crackles and a split second later Sharmila explodes. Her bones, guts, flesh and blood splatter the barrier behind her, while the unleashed energy hammers through the shield, creating a porthole to freedom.

We're both shaken and crying, but we have to act swiftly or Sharmila will have died for nothing. We try nudging the lifeboat over to the hole in the barrier but the restraints won't let it be moved in that direction. Weary beyond belief, I yell for Kirilli to join us. When we link hands, I draw on his energy-he hasn't used as much as we have, so he has a fair supply in reserve. I snap the ropes and chains holding the lifeboat in place. Guided by us, it glides through the air, centimetres above the deck. We shuffle along after it.

When the boat is level with the gap, I edge forward, dragging the others with me, refusing to focus on the gory remains of Sharmila which decorate the rim of the hole. I glance over the rails. We're high up in the air. The water's a long way down. Two options. We can let the boat drop and try to scale down to it. Or...

"Climb in," I grunt.

"Will it fit?" Kirilli asks, studying the lifeboat, then the hole, trying to make accurate measurements of both. Typical man!

"Just get in, you fool!" I shout. "That hole could snap shut in a second."

Kirilli scrambles in. When the contact breaks, the lifeboat drops and lands on the deck with a clang. I push Dervish ahead of me, then crawl in after him. The zombies are almost upon us, mewling with hunger.

I grab Kirilli's left hand and Dervish's right. Focusing the last vestiges of our pooled magic, I yell at the lifeboat and send it shooting ahead.

It catches in the hole, jolts forward a few centimetres under pressure from me, then stalls. It's too wide. We're stuck. Worse-it's plugged the hole, so we can't try jumping to safety. What a useless, stupid way to-

The lifeboat pops free with a sharp, creaking noise. We shoot clear of the hole, the barrier and the ship, gathering momentum. We sail through the air like some kind of crazily designed bird. We're whooping and cheering.

Then, before any of us realises the danger of our situation, we hit the sea hard. The boat flips over. I bang my head on the side. My mouth fills as I spill into the sea. I try to spit the water out, but I haven't the energy. As I sink slowly, I raise my eyes and steal one last look at the sky through the liquid layers above me. Then the world turns black.

Arms squeeze my stomach and I vomit. My eyes flutter open and I groan. My head's hanging over the edge of the lifeboat, bits of my last meal bobbing up and down in the water beneath me. I know from the memories flooding into me that Dervish is doing the squeezing.

"It's OK," I groan as he tenses his arms to try again. "I'm alive."

Dervish gently tugs me back over the side. There's water in the bottom. Kirilli is bailing it out with his hands. But we're afloat and the lifeboat doesn't look like it sustained any major damage.

"We thought we'd lost you," Dervish says, smiling with relief. "Kirilli fished you out, but you were motionless..." He clears his throat and brushes wet hair back from my eyes. The tenderness in his expression warms me more than the sun.

"Have I been unconscious long?" I ask.

"No."

"The ship...?"

"Still there."

Dervish helps me sit up and we gaze at the sinking vessel. It's listing sharply. It can't last much longer. We're quite far away from it, but if I squint I can make out theshapes of zombies throwing themselves through the hole in pursuit of us. They don't last long once they hit the water.

Kirilli stops bailing and studies the ship with us. We don't say a word. It's a weird sensation, watching something so huge and majestic sink out of sight. It's as if the ship is a living creature that's dying. I feel strangely sad for it.

"All those people," Dervish sighs as the last section slips beneath the waves in a froth of angry bubbles. "I wish we could have saved them."

"Beranabus," I whisper, fresh tears welling in my eyes. "Sharmila. Kernel."

"A costly day's work," Dervish says bitterly. "And we didn't even destroy the Shadow sure its body is gone but its soul didn't leave meaning It'll come after us again. We've lost our leader and two of the strongest Disciples. If Lord Loss was telling the truth, Grubbs is probably dead too. Hardly counts as a victory, does it?"

He doesn't know how true that is. I start to tell him what I learnt about the Shadow, but Kirilli interrupts.

"When I left you in the hold," he says shiftily, "I hope you didn't think I was running off. I just wanted to make sure the stairs and corridors were clear, so we could make a quick getaway together."

"Of course," Dervish murmurs. "It never crossed our thoughts that you might have lost your nerve and fled like a cowardly rat, leaving the rest of us in the lurch. You're a hero, Kirilli."

Dervish claps sarcastically and Kirilli looks aside miserably. I put my hands over Dervish's and stop him. "Don't," I croak. "He helped us in the end. We couldn't have escaped without him."

"I suppose," Dervish mutters.

Kirilli looks up hopefully. "You mean that?"

"We'd never have shifted this boat ourselves," I assure him. "We needed your magic. If you'd fought in the hold and used up your power, we'd have all died."

"Then it worked out for the best," Kirilli beams. "I did the right thing running. I thought so. When I was down there, sizing up the situation, I-"

"Don't push your luck," Dervish growls. Then he narrows his eyes and studies Kirilli closely. "Are those bite marks?"

"Yes," Kirilli says pitifully. He stares at the stumps where his fingers were bitten off. He must have unwittingly used magic to stop the bleeding, scab over the flesh and numb the pain. He'll be screeching like a banshee once the spell fades.

"Those beasts bit and clawed me all over," Kirilli says sulkily, ripping a strip off a sleeve to wrap around the stumps. "I'm lucky they didn't puncture any vital veins or arteries. If I hadn't fought so valiantly, they'd have eaten me alive."

"Such a shame," Dervish purrs, shaking his head.

"What?" Kirilli frowns.

"You've seen a few zombie films in your time, haven't you."

"One or two," Kirilli sniffs. "I don't like horror films. Why?"

"You must know, then, that their saliva is infectious. When a zombie bites one of the living, that person succumbs to the disease and turns-"

"No!" Kirilli cries, dropping the strip of shirt and lurching to his feet. "You're joking! You must be!"

Dervish shrugs. "I'm only telling you what I've seen in the movies. It might all be nonsense, but when you think about it logically..."

As Kirilli's face crumples, Dervish winks at me. I stifle a smile. This isn't nice, but Kirilli deserves it. Not for being a coward, but for trying to lie. A good scare will do him no harm at all.

We drift for hours. The sun descends. Night claims the sky. After letting Kirilli fret for an hour, Dervish finally told him it was a wind-up. Kirilli cursed us foully and imaginatively. But he calmed down after a while and we've been silent since, bobbing about, absorbing the refreshing rays of the sun, thinking about the dead.

It all seems hopeless without Beranabus, especially knowing what I do about the Shadow. Mankind has reached breaking point and I can't see any way forward. I doubt if even Beranabus could have made a difference. There are some things you can't fight. Certain outcomes are inevitable.

Kirilli has spent the last few minutes examining the lifeboat, scouring it from bow to stern. He returns to his seat with a bottle of water and a small medical box. "Good news and bad," he says, opening the box and looking for ointment to use on his wounds. The healing spell must have passed because he's grimacing. "The good news-both oars are on board, there are six bottles of water and this medical box. The bad news-there's no radio equipment or food, and once we drink the water we can't replace it."

"Do you know if the crew of the ship sent a distress signal?" Dervish asks.

"No idea. Even if they did, would it have penetrated the magical barrier?"

"Probably not," Dervish sighs. "Can I have some water?"

Kirilli takes a swig, then passes it across. "Not too much," he warns. "That has to last."

Dervish chuckles drily. "It'll probably last longer than me. My heart could pop any minute."

"Let me check." I place my hand on his chest and concentrate. I can sense the erratic beat of his heart. He's in very poor condition. He needs hospitalisation or magic. If we could cross to the universe of the Demonata, we'd be fine.

I try absorbing power from the air, to open a window, but there's virtually nothing to tap into and I'm in a sorry state. The moon will lend me strength when it rises, but it won't be enough.

"Were you trying to open a window?" Dervish asks softly.

"Yes."

"No joy?"

"I'll be able to later, when I'm stronger," I lie. But Dervish sees through me.

"No tears," he croaks as I start to cry. "Don't waste the moisture."

"It's OK," Kirilli says, trying to cheer me up. "Even if there was no distress signal, the ship's absence will be noted. The seas are monitored by computers and satellites. Most passengers had mobile phones and were in regular contact with family and work colleagues. They'll be missed. I bet there'll be an army of planes, helicopters and ships out here by dawn."

"What if we've drifted so far they can't find us?" Dervish asks.

"We can do without the pessimism, thank you," Kirilli protests.

Dervish laughs, then his expression mellows. "Listen," he says earnestly, "if I do croak and help doesn't come, I want you to use my remains. Understand?"

"I'm not sure I do," I frown.

"There's not much meat on these bones, but it'll keep you going for-"

"No!" I shout. "Don't be obscene."

"I'm being practical," he says. "I'm letting you know I won't object if-"

"There'll be no cannibalism on this boat," I growl. "Right, Kirilli?"

"He has a point," Kirilli mutters. "He wouldn't just be a food source-humans are seventy per cent water. And we could use his skin for shelter. His bones might come in handy too, if we have to fight off sharks or-"

"Nobody's eating anybody!" I yell, then burst into tears.

"OK," Dervish soothes me. "I was only trying to help. Don't worry. If you don't want to eat me, I won't force you." He pulls a crooked expression. "Does that sound as crazy as I think?"

I laugh through my tears. "You idiot! Besides," I add, wiping my cheeks clean, "it doesn't matter whether we live or die. It might even be better if we perish on this boat. I'm not sure I want to go back."

"What are you talking about?" Dervish frowns.

I take a deep breath and finally reveal what I learned on the ship. "I touched the Shadow and absorbed some of its memories. I told Beranabus. That's why he gambled so recklessly and sacrificed himself. He knew the Shadow couldn't be defeated, that we couldn't kill it. Sending it back to the Demonata universe for a while was the best we could hope for."

"I don't believe that," Dervish snorts. "I don't care how powerful it is. Everything can be killed."

"Not the Shadow," I disagree.

I lie back in the boat and stare at the darkening sky, listening to the waves lap against the sides of the boat. It's peaceful. I wouldn't mind if I fell asleep now and never awoke.

"The Shadow's not a demon," I explain quietly, and Dervish and Kirilli have to lean in close to hear. "It's a force that somehow acquired consciousness. I don't know how, but it has."

"A force?" Dervish scowls.

"Like gravity," I explain. "Imagine if gravity developed a mind, created a body and became an actual entity-Gravity with a capital G, intelligent like us, able to think and plan."

"That's impossible," Dervish says. "Gravity's like the wind or sunlight. It can't develop consciousness."

"But imagine it could," I push. "You've seen the true nature of the universes. You know magic exists, that just about anything is possible. Imagine."

Dervish takes a moment to adjust his thinking. "OK," he says heavily. "It's a struggle, but I'm running with it. Gravity has a mind. It's given itself a body. And it's coming after humanity. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Almost," I smile weakly. "But it's not gravity. It's an altogether different force. More sinister. Inescapable. Every living being's final companion."

"Don't tease us with riddles," Dervish snaps. "Just spit it out."

"I think I already know," Kirilli says softly. "The greatest stage magician ever was Harry Houdini. He was a master escapologist. He could cheat any trap known to man. But there was one thing he couldn't escape, no matter how hard he tried, and it caught him eventually-the Grim Reaper."

"Aye."

I sigh as Dervish stares at me with growing understanding and horror, then close my eyes and cross my hands over my chest. I think about Beranabus, Sharmila, Kernel. Dervish's weak heart. The trap Lord Loss set for Grubbs. What will happen to Kirilli and me if help doesn't arrive in time.

Dead ends everywhere. The dead coming back to life on the ship. Juni and me returning to life from beyond the grave. The Shadow's promise to the Demonata, that they'll live forever once the war with humanity is over.

"The Shadow is ancient beyond understanding," I whisper. "It's as old as life. It doesn't have an actual name. It never needed one. But we've given it a title. The demons have too. It's the darkness when a light is quenched, the silence when a sound fades. It takes the final breath from the smallest insect and the mightiest king. It knows us all, stalks us all, and in the end claims us all. _The shadow is death_


	13. titanfall

**Time skip 5 years (AN everything that happens in the books stay the same) Percy pov**

We ran through streets. Mansions were burning. Statues had been hacked down. Trees in the parks were blasted to splinters. It looked like someone had attacked the city with a giant Weedwacker. "Kronos's scythe, " I said. We followed the winding path toward the palace of the gods. I didn't remember the road being so long. Maybe Kronos was making time go slower, or maybe it was just dread slowing me down. The whole mountaintop was in ruins-so many beautiful buildings and gardens gone. A few minor gods and nature spirits had tried to stop Kronos. What remained of them was strewn about the road: shattered armor, ripped clothing, swords and spears broken in half. Somewhere ahead of us, Kronos's voice roared: "Brick by brick! That was my promise. Tear it down BRICK BY BRICK!" A white marble temple with a gold dome suddenly exploded. The dome shot up like the lid of a teapot and shattered into a billion pieces, raining rubble over the city. "That was a shrine to Artemis, " Thalia grumbled. "He'll pay for that. " We were running under the marble archway with the huge statues of Zeus and Hera when the entire mountain groaned, rocking sideways like a boat in a storm. "Look out!" Grover yelped. The archway crumbled. I looked up in time to see a twenty-ton scowling Hera topple over on us. Annabeth and I would've been flattened, but Thalia shoved us from behind and we landed just out of danger. "Thalia!" Grover cried. When the dust cleared and the mountain stopped rocking, we found her still alive, but her legs were pinned under the statue. We tried desperately to move it, but it would've taken several Cyclopes. When we tried to pull Thalia out from under it, she yelled in pain. "I survive all those battles, " she growled, "and I get defeated by a stupid chunk of rock!" "It's Hera, " Annabeth said in outrage. "She's had it in for me all year. Her statue would've killed me if you hadn't pushed us away. " Thalia grimaced. "Well, don't just stand there! I'll be fine. Go!" We didn't want to leave her, but I could hear Kronos laughing as he approached the hall of the gods. More buildings exploded. "We'll be back, " I promised. "I'm not going anywhere, " Thalia groaned. A fireball erupted on the side of the mountain, right near the gates of the palace. "We've got to run, " I said. "I don't suppose you mean away, " Grover murmured hopefully. I sprinted toward the palace, Annabeth right behind me. "I was afraid of that, " Grover sighed, and clip-clopped after us. The doors of the palace were big enough to steer a cruise ship through, but they'd been ripped off their hinges and smashed like they weighed nothing. We had to climb over a huge pile of broken stone and twisted metal to get inside. Kronos stood in the middle of the throne room, his arms wide, staring at the starry ceiling as if taking it all in. His laughter echoed even louder than it had from the pit of Tartarus

"Finally!" he bellowed. "The Olympian Council-so proud and mighty. Which seat of power shall I destroy first?" Ethan Nakamura stood to one side, trying to stay out of the way of his master's scythe. The hearth was almost dead, just a few coals glowing deep in the ashes. Hestia was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Rachel. I hoped she was okay, but I'd seen so much destruction I was afraid to think about it. The Ophiotaurus swam in his water sphere in the far corner of the room, wisely not making a sound, but it wouldn't be long before Kronos noticed him. Annabeth, Grover, and I stepped forward into the torchlight. Ethan saw us first. "My lord, " he warned. Kronos turned and smiled through Luke's face. Except for the golden eyes, he looked just the same as he had four years ago when he'd welcomed me into the Hermes cabin. Annabeth made a painful sound in the back of her throat, like someone had just sucker punched her. "Shall I destroy you first, Jackson?" Kronos asked. "Is that the choice you will make-to fight me and die instead of bowing down? Prophecies never end well, you know. " "Luke would fight with a sword, " I said. "But I suppose you don't have his skill. " Kronos sneered. His scythe began to change, until he held Luke's old weapon, Backbiter, with its half-steel, half-Celestial bronze blade. Next to me, Annabeth gasped like she'd suddenly had an idea. "Percy, the blade!" She unsheathed her knife. "The hero's soulcursed blade shall reap. " I didn't understand why she was reminding me of that prophecy line right now. It wasn't exactly a morale booster, but before I could say anything, Kronos raised his sword. "Wait!" Annabeth yelled. Kronos came at me like a whirlwind. My instincts took over. I dodged and slashed and rolled, but I felt like I was fighting a hundred swordsmen. Ethan ducked to one side, trying to get behind me until Annabeth intercepted him. They started to fight, but I couldn't focus on how she was doing. I was vaguely aware of Grover playing his reed pipes. The sound filled me with warmth and courage-thoughts of sunlight and a blue sky and a calm meadow, somewhere far away from the war. Kronos backed me up against the throne of Hephaestus-a huge mechanical La-Z-Boy type thing covered with bronze and silver gears. Kronos slashed, and I managed to jump straight up onto the seat. The throne whirred and hummed with secret mechanisms. Defense mode, it warned. Defense mode. That couldn't be good. I jumped straight over Kronos's head as the throne shot tendrils of electricity in all directions. One hit Kronos in the face, arcing down his body and up his sword. "ARG!" He crumpled to his knees and dropped Backbiter. Annabeth saw her chance. She kicked Ethan out of the way and charged Kronos. "Luke, listen!" I wanted to shout at her, to tell her she was crazy for trying to reason with Kronos, but there was no time. Kronos flicked his hand. Annabeth flew backward, slamming into the throne of her mother and crumpling to the floor. "Annabeth!" I screamed. Ethan Nakamura got to his feet. He now stood between Annabeth and me. I couldn't fight him without turning my back on Kronos. Grover's music took on a more urgent tune. He moved toward Annabeth, but he couldn't go any faster and keep up the song. Grass grew on the floor of the throne room. Tiny roots crept up between the cracks of the marble stones. Kronos rose to one knee. His hair smoldered. His face was covered with electrical burns. He reached for his sword, but this time it didn't fly into his hands. "Nakamura!" he groaned. "Time to prove yourself. You know Jackson's secret weakness. Kill him, and you will have rewards beyond measure. " Ethan's eyes dropped to my midsection, and I was sure that he knew. Even if he couldn't kill me himself, all he had to do was tell Kronos. There was no way I could defend myself forever. "Look around you, Ethan, " I said. "The end of the world. Is this the reward you want? Do you really want everything destroyed-the good with the bad? Everything?" Grover was almost to Annabeth now. The grass thickened on the floor. The roots were almost a foot long, like a stubble of whiskers. "There is no throne to Nemesis, " Ethan muttered. "No throne to my mother. " "That's right!" Kronos tried to get up, but stumbled. Above his left ear, a patch of blond hair still smoldered. "Strike them down! They deserve to suffer. " "You said your mom is the goddess of balance, " I reminded him. "The minor gods deserve better, Ethan, but total destruction isn't balance. Kronos doesn't build. He only destroys. " Ethan looked at the sizzling throne of Hephaestus. Grover's music kept playing, and Ethan swayed to it, as if the song were filling him with nostalgia-a wish to see a beautiful day, to be anywhere but here. His good eye blinked. Then he charged . . . But not at me. While Kronos was still on his knees, Ethan brought down his sword on the Titan lord's neck. It should have killed him instantly, but the blade shattered. Ethan fell back, grasping his stomach. A shard of his own blade had ricocheted and pierced his armor. Kronos rose unsteadily, towering over his servant. "Treason, " he snarled. Grover's music kept playing, and grass grew around Ethan's body. Ethan stared at me, his face tight with pain. "Deserve better, " he gasped. "If they just . . . Had thrones-" Kronos stomped his foot, and the floor ruptured around Ethan Nakamura. The son of Nemesis fell through a fissure that went straight through the heart of the mountain-straight into open air. "So much for him. " Kronos picked up his sword. "And now for the rest of you. " My only thought was to keep him away from Annabeth. Grover was at her side now. He'd stopped playing and was feeding her ambrosia. Everywhere Kronos stepped, the roots wrapped around his feet, but Grover had stopped his magic too early. The roots weren't thick or strong enough to do much more than annoy the Titan. We fought through the hearth, kicking up coals and sparks. Kronos slashed an armrest off the throne of Ares, which was okay by me, but then he backed me up to my dad's throne. "Oh, yes, " Kronos said. "This one will make fine kindling for my new hearth!" Our blades clashed in a shower of sparks. He was stronger than me, but for the moment I felt the power of the ocean in my arms. I pushed him back and struck again-slashing Riptide across his breastplate so hard I cut a gash in the Celestial bronze. He stamped his foot again and time slowed. I tried to attack but I was moving at the speed of a glacier. Kronos backed up leisurely, catching his breath. He examined the gash in his armor while I struggled forward, silently cursing him. He could take all the time- outs he wanted. He could freeze me in place at will. My only hope was that the effort was draining him. If I could wear him down . . . "It's too late, Percy Jackson, " he said. "Behold. " He pointed to the hearth, and the coals glowed. A sheet of white smoke poured from the fire, forming images like an Iris-message. I saw Nico and my parents down on Fifth Avenue, fighting a hopeless battle, ringed in enemies. In the background Hades fought from his black chariot, summoning wave after wave of zombies out of the ground,

but the forces of the Titan's army seemed just as endless. Meanwhile, Manhattan was being destroyed. Mortals, now fully awake, were running in terror. Cars swerved and crashed. The scene shifted, and I saw something even more terrifying. A column of storm was approaching the Hudson River, moving rapidly over the Jersey shore. Chariots circled it, locked in combat with the creature in the cloud. The gods attacked. Lightning flashed. Arrows of gold and silver streaked into the cloud like rocket tracers and exploded. Slowly, the cloud ripped apart, and I saw Typhon clearly for the first time. I knew as long as I lived (which might not be that long) I would never be able to get the image out of my mind. Typhon's head shifted constantly. Every moment he was a different monster, each more horrible than the last. Looking at his face would've driven me insane, so I focused on his body, which wasn't much better. He was humanoid, but his skin reminded me of a meat loaf sandwich that had been in someone's locker all year. He was mottled green, with blisters the size of buildings, and blackened patches from eons of being stuck under a volcano. His hands were human, but with talons like an eagle's. His legs were scaly and reptilian. "The Olympians are giving their final effort. " Kronos laughed. "How pathetic. " Zeus threw a thunderbolt from his chariot. The blast lit up the world. I could feel the shock even here on Olympus, but when the dust cleared, Typhon was still standing. He staggered a bit, with a smoking crater on top of his misshapen head, but he roared in anger and kept advancing. My limbs began to loosen up. Kronos didn't seem to notice. His attention was focused on the fight and his final victory. If I could hold out a few more seconds, and if my dad kept his word . . . Typhon stepped into the Hudson River and barely sank to midcalf. Now, I thought, imploring the image in the smoke. Please, it has to happen now. Like a miracle, a conch horn sounded from the smoky picture. The call of the ocean. The call of Poseidon. All around Typhon, the Hudson River erupted, churning with forty- foot waves. Out of the water burst a new chariot-this one pulled by massive hippocampi, who swam in air as easily as in water. My father, glowing with a blue aura of power, rode a defiant circle around the giant's legs. Poseidon was no longer an old man. He looked like himself again-tan and strong with a black beard. As he swung his trident, the river responded, making a funnel cloud around the monster. "No!" Kronos bellowed after a moment of stunned silence. "NO!" "NOW, MY BRETHREN!" Poseidon's voice was so loud I wasn't sure if I was hearing it from the smoke image or from all the way across town. "STRIKE FOR OLYMPUS!" Warriors burst out of the river, riding the waves on huge sharks and dragons and sea horses. It was a legion of Cyclopes, and leading them into battle was . . . "Tyson!" I yelled. I knew he couldn't hear me, but I stared at him in amazement. He'd magically grown in size. He had to be thirty feet tall, as big as any of his older cousins, and for the first time he was wearing full battle armor. Riding behind him was Briares, the Hundred-Handed One. All the Cyclopes held huge lengths of black iron chains-big enough to anchor a battleship-with grappling hooks at the ends. They swung them like lassos and began to ensnare Typhon, throwing lines around the creature's legs and arms, using the tide to keep circling, slowly tangling him. Typhon shook and roared and yanked at the chains, pulling some of the Cyclopes off their mounts; but there were too many chains. The sheer weight of the Cyclops battalion began to weigh Typhon down. Poseidon threw his trident and impaled the monster in the throat. Golden blood, immortal ichor, spewed from the wound, making a waterfall taller than a skyscraper. The trident flew back to Poseidon's hand. The other gods struck with renewed force. Ares rode in and stabbed Typhon in the nose. Artemis shot the monster in the eye with a dozen silver arrows. Apollo shot a blazing volley of arrows and set the monster's loincloth on fire. And Zeus kept pounding the giant with lightning, until finally, slowly, the water rose, wrapping Typhon like a cocoon, and he began to sink under the weight of the chains. Typhon bellowed in agony, thrashing with such force that waves sloshed the Jersey shore, soaking five-story buildings and splashing over the George Washington Bridge-but down he went as my dad opened a special tunnel for him at the bottom of the river-an endless waterslide that would take him straight to Tartarus. The giant's head went under in a seething whirlpool, and he was gone. "BAH!" Kronos screamed. He slashed his sword through the smoke, tearing the image to shreds. "They're on their way, " I said. "You've lost. " "I haven't even started. " He advanced with blinding speed. Grover-brave, stupid satyr that he was-tried to protect me, but Kronos tossed him aside like a rag doll. I sidestepped and jabbed under Kronos's guard. It was a good trick. Unfortunately, Luke knew it. He countered the strike and disarmed me using one of the first moves he'd ever taught me. My sword skittered across the ground and fell straight into the open fissure. "STOP!" Annabeth came from nowhere. Kronos whirled to face her and slashed with Backbiter, but somehow Annabeth caught the strike on her dagger hilt. It was a move only the quickest and most skilled knife fighter could've managed. Don't ask me where she found the strength, but she stepped in closer for leverage, their blades crossed, and for a moment she stood face-to- face with the Titan lord, holding him at a standstill. "Luke, " she said, gritting her teeth, "I understand now. You have to trust me. " Kronos roared in outrage. "Luke Castellan is dead! His body will burn away as I assume my true form!" I tried to move, but my body was frozen again. How could Annabeth, battered and half dead with exhaustion, have the strength to fight a Titan like Kronos? Kronos pushed against her, trying to dislodge his blade, but she held him in check, her arms trembling as he forced his sword down toward her neck. "Your mother, " Annabeth grunted. "She saw your fate. " "Service to Kronos!" the Titan roared. "This is my fate. " "No!" Annabeth insisted. Her eyes were tearing up, but I didn't know if it was from sadness or pain. "That's not the end, Luke. The prophecy: she saw what you would do. It applies to you!" "I will crush you, child!" Kronos bellowed. "You won't, " Annabeth said. "You promised. You're holding Kronos back even now. " "LIES!" Kronos pushed again, and this time Annabeth lost her balance. With his free hand, Kronos struck her face, and she slid backward. I summoned all my will. I managed to rise, but it was like holding the weight of the sky again. Kronos loomed over Annabeth, his sword raised. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She croaked, "Family, Luke. You promised. " I took a painful step forward. Grover was back on his feet, over by the throne of Hera, but he seemed to be struggling to move as well. Before either of us could get anywhere close to Annabeth, Kronos staggered. He stared at the knife in Annabeth's hand, the blood on her face. "Promise. " Then he gasped like he couldn't get air"Annabeth . . . " But it wasn't the Titan's voice. It was Luke's. He stumbled forward like he couldn't control his own body. "You're bleeding. . . . " "My knife. " Annabeth tried to raise her dagger, but it clattered out of her hand. Her arm was bent at a funny angle. She looked at me, imploring, "Percy, please . . . " I could move again. I surged forward and scooped up her knife. I knocked Backbiter out of Luke's hand, and it spun into the hearth. Luke hardly paid me any attention. He stepped toward Annabeth, but I put myself between him and her. "Don't touch her, " I said. Anger rippled across his face. Kronos's voice growled: "Jackson . . . " Was it my imagination, or was his whole body glowing, turning gold? He gasped again. Luke's voice: "He's changing. Help. He's . . . He's almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please-" "NO!" Kronos bellowed. He looked around for his sword, but it was in the hearth, glowing among the coals. He stumbled toward it. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me out of the way with such force I landed next to Annabeth and cracked my head on the base of Athena's throne. "The knife, Percy, " Annabeth muttered. Her breath was shallow. "Hero . . . Cursed blade . . . " When my vision came back into focus, I saw Kronos grasping his sword. Then he bellowed in pain and dropped it. His hands were smoking and seared. The hearth fire had grown red-hot, like the scythe wasn't compatible with it. I saw an image of Hestia flickering in the ashes, frowning at Kronos with disapproval. Luke turned and collapsed, clutching his ruined hands. "Please, Percy . . . " I struggled to my feet. I moved toward him with the knife. I should kill him. That was the plan. Luke seemed to know what I was thinking. He moistened his lips. "You can't . . . Can't do it yourself. He'll break my control. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can . . . Can keep him controlled. " He was definitely glowing now, his skin starting to smoke. I raised the knife to strike. Then I looked at Annabeth, at Grover cradling her in his arms, trying to shield her. And I finally understood what she'd been trying to tell me. You are not the hero, Rachel had said. It will affect what you do. "Please, " Luke groaned. "No time. " If Kronos evolved into his true form, there would be no stopping him. He would make Typhon look like a playground bully. The line from the great prophecy echoed in my head: A hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. My whole world tipped upside down, and I gave the knife to Luke. Grover yelped. "Percy? Are you . . . Um . . . " Crazy. Insane. Off my rocker. Probably. But I watched as Luke grasped the hilt. I stood before him-defenseless. He unlatched the side straps of his armor, exposing a small bit of his skin just under his left arm, a place that would be very hard to hit. With difficulty, he stabbed himself. It wasn't a deep cut, but Luke howled. His eyes glowed like lava. The throne room shook, throwing me off my feet. An aura of energy surrounded Luke, growing brighter and brighter. I shut my eyes and felt a force like a nuclear explosion blister my skin and crack my lips. It was silent for a long time. When I opened my eyes, I saw Luke sprawled at the hearth. On the floor around him was a blackened circle of ash. Kronos's scythe had liquefied into molten metal and was trickling into the coals of the hearth, which now glowed like a blacksmith's furnace. Luke's left side was bloody. His eyes were open-blue eyes, the way they used to be. His breath was a deep rattle. "Good . . . Blade, " he croaked. I knelt next to him. Annabeth limped over with Grover's support. They both had tears in their eyes. Luke gazed at Annabeth. "You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew . . . " "Shhh. " Her voice trembled. "You were a hero at the end, Luke. You'll go to Elysium. " He shook his head weakly. "Think . . . Rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest. " Annabeth sniffled. "You always pushed yourself too hard. " He held up his charred hand. Annabeth touched his fingertips. "Did you . . . " Luke coughed and his lips glistened red. "Did you love me?" Annabeth wiped her tears away. "There was a time I thought . . . Well, I thought . . . " She looked at me, like she was drinking in the fact that I was still here. And I realized I was doing the same thing. The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive. "You were like a brother to me, Luke, " she said softly. "But I didn't love you. " He nodded, as if he'd expected it. He winced in pain. "We can get ambrosia, " Grover said. "We can-" "Grover, " Luke gulped. "You're the bravest satyr I ever knew. But no. There's no healing. . . . " Another cough. He gripped my sleeve, and I could feel the heat of his skin like a fire. "Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don't let it . . . Don't let it happen again. " His eyes were angry, but pleading too. "I won't, " I said. "I promise. " Luke nodded, and his hand went slack. The gods arrived a few minutes later in their full war regalia, thundering into the throne room and expecting a battle. What they found were Annabeth, Grover, and me standing over the body of a broken half-blood, in the dim warm light of the hearth. "Percy, " my father called, awe in his voice. "What . . . What is this?" I turned and faced the Olympians. "We need a shroud, " I announced, my voice cracking. "A shroud for the son of Hermes. "


	14. revelations

Katie Gardner reported that she'd seen Rachel Elizabeth Dare run out of the Empire State Building at the end of the battle. Rachel had looked unharmed, but nobody knew where she'd gone, which also troubled me. Nico di Angelo came into Olympus to a hero's welcome, his father right behind him, despite the fact that Hades was only supposed to visit Olympus on winter solstice. The god of the dead looked stunned when his relatives clapped him on the back. I doubt he'd ever gotten such an enthusiastic welcome before. Clarisse marched in, still shivering from her time in the ice block, and Ares bellowed, "There's my girl!" The god of war ruffled her hair and pounded her on the back, calling her the best warrior he'd ever seen. "That drakon-slaying? THAT'S what I'm talking about!" She looked pretty overwhelmed. All she could do was nod and blink, like she was afraid he'd start hitting her, but eventually she began to smile. Hera and Hephaestus passed me, and while Hephaestus was a little grumpy about my jumping on his throne, he thought I'd done "a pretty bang-up job, mostly. " Hera sniffed in disdain. "I suppose I won't destroy you and that little girl now. " "Annabeth saved Olympus, " I told her. "She convinced Luke to stop Kronos. " "Hmm, " Hera whirled away in a huff, but I figured our lives would be safe, at least for a little while.

Dionysus's head was still wrapped in a bandage. He looked me up and down and said, "Well, Percy Jackson. I see Pollux made it through, so I suppose you aren't completely inept. It's all thanks to my training, I suppose. " "Urn, yes, sir, " I said. Mr. D nodded. "As thanks for my bravery, Zeus has cut my probation at that miserable camp in half. I now have only fifty years left instead of one hundred. " "Fifty years, huh?" I tried to imagine putting up with Dionysus until I was an old man, assuming I lived that long. "Don't get so excited, Jackson, " he said, and I realized he was saying my name correctly. "I still plan on making your life miserable. " I couldn't help smiling. "Naturally. " "Just so we understand each other. " He turned and began repairing his grapevine throne, which had been singed by fire. Grover stayed at my side. From time to time he would break down in tears. "So many nature spirits dead, Percy. So many. " I put my arm around his shoulders and gave him a rag to blow his nose. "You did a great job, G-man. We will come back from this. We'll plant new trees. We'll clean up the parks. Your friends will be reincarnated into a better world. " He sniffled dejectedly. "I . . . I suppose. But it was hard enough to rally them before. I'm still an outcast. I could barely get anyone to listen to me about Pan. Now will they ever listen to me again? I led them into a slaughter. " "They will listen, " I promised. "Because you careabout them. You care about the Wild more than anyone. " He tried for a smile. "Thanks, Percy. I hope . . . I hope you know I'm really proud to be your friend. " I patted his arm. "Luke was right about one thing, G-man. You're the bravest satyr I ever met. " He blushed, but before he could say anything, conch horns blew. The army of Poseidon marched into the throne room. "Percy!" Tyson yelled. He charged toward me with his arms open. Fortunately he'd shrunk back to normal size, so his hug was like getting hit by a tractor, not the entire farm. "You are not dead!" he said. "Yeah!" I agreed. "Amazing, huh?" He clapped his hands and laughed happily. "I am not dead either. Yay! We chained Typhon. It was fun!" Behind him, fifty other armored Cyclopes laughed and nodded and gave each other high fives. "Tyson led us, " one rumbled. "He is brave!" "Bravest of the Cyclopes!" another bellowed. Tyson blushed. "Was nothing. " "I saw you!" I said. "You were incredible!" I thought poor Grover would pass out. He's deathly afraid of Cyclopes. But he steeled his nerves and said, "Yes. Um . . . Three cheers for Tyson!" "YAAARRRRR!" the Cyclopes roared. "Please don't eat me, " Grover muttered, but I don't think anyone heard him. The conch horns blasted again. The Cyclopes parted, and my father strode into the throne room in his battle armor, his trident glowing in his hands. "Tyson!" he roared. "Well done, my son. And Percy-" His face turned stern. He wagged his finger at me, and for a second I was afraid he was going to zap me. "I even forgive you for sitting on my throne. You have saved Olympus!" He held out his arms and gave me a was warm-like a regular human-and he smelled of a salty beach and fresh sea air. When he pulled away, he smiled kindly at me. I felt so good, I'll admit I teared up a little. I guess until that moment I hadn't allowed myself to realize just how terrified I had been the last few days. "Dad-" "Shhh, " he said. "No hero is above fear, Percy. And you have risen above every hero. Not even Hercules-" "POSEIDON!" a voice roared. Zeus had taken his throne. He glared across the room at my dad while all the other gods filed in and took their seats. Even Hades was present, sitting on a simple stone guest chair at the foot of the hearth. Nico sat cross-legged on the ground at his dad's feet. "Well, Poseidon?" Zeus grumped. "Are you too proud to join us in council, my brother?" I thought Poseidon was going to get mad, but he just looked at me and winked. "I would be honored, Lord Zeus. " I guess miracles do happen. Poseidon strode over to his fishing seat, and the Olympian Council convened. While Zeus was talking-some long speech about the bravery of the gods, etc. -Annabeth walked in and stood next to me. She looked good for someone who'd recently passed out. "Miss much?" she whispered.

"Nobody's planning to kill us, so far, " I whispered back. "First time today. " I cracked up, but Grover nudged me because Hera was giving us a dirty look. "As for my brothers, " Zeus said, "we are thankful"-he cleared his throat like the words were hard to get out-"erm, thankful for the aid of Hades. " The lord of the dead nodded. He had a smug look on his face, but I figure he'd earned the right. He patted his son Nico on the shoulders, and Nico looked happier than I'd ever seen him. "And, of course, " Zeus continued, though he looked like his pants were smoldering, "we must . . . Um . . . Thank Poseidon. " "I'm sorry, brother, " Poseidon said. "What was that?" "We must thank Poseidon, " Zeus growled. "Without whom . . . It would've been difficult-" "Difficult?" Poseidon asked innocently. "Impossible, " Zeus said. "Impossible to defeat Typhon. " The gods murmured agreement and pounded their weapons in approval. "Which leaves us, " Zeus said, "only the matter of thanking our young demigod heroes, who defended Olympus so well-even if there are a few dents in my throne. " He called Thalia forward first, since she was his daughter, and promised her help in filling the Hunters' ranks. Artemis smiled. "You have done well, my lieutenant. You have made me proud, and all those Hunters who perished in my service will never be forgotten. They willachieve Elysium, I am sure. " She glared pointedly at Hades. He shrugged. "Probably. " Artemis glared at him some more. "Okay, " Hades grumbled. "I'll streamline their application process. " Thalia beamed with pride. "Thank you, my lady. " She bowed to the gods, even Hades, and then limped over to stand by Artemis's side. "Tyson, son of Poseidon!" Zeus called. Tyson looked nervous, but he went to stand in the middle of the Council, and Zeus grunted. "Doesn't miss many meals, does he?" Zeus muttered. "Tyson, for your bravery in the war, and for leading the Cyclopes, you are appointed a general in the armies of Olympus. You shall henceforth lead your brethren into war whenever required by the gods. And you shall have a new . . . Um . . . What kind of weapon would you like? A sword? An axe?" "Stick!" Tyson said, showing his broken club. "Very well, " Zeus said. "We will grant you a new, er, stick. The best stick that may be found. " "Hooray!" Tyson cried, and all the Cyclopes cheered and pounded him on the back as he rejoined them. "Grover Underwood of the satyrs!" Dionysus called. Grover came forward nervously. "Oh, stop chewing your shirt, " Dionysus chided. "Honestly, I'm not going to blast you. For your bravery and sacrifice, blah, blah, blah, and since we have an unfortunate vacancy, the gods have seen fit to name you a member of the Council of Cloven Elders. " Grover collapsed on the spot. "Oh, wonderful, " Dionysus sighed, as several naiads came forward to help Grover. "Well, when he wakes up, someone tell him that he will no longer be an outcast, and that all satyrs, naiads, and other spirits of nature will henceforth treat him as a lord of the Wild, with all rights, privileges, and honors, blah, blah, blah. Now please, drag him off before he wakes up and starts groveling. " "FOOOOOD, " Grover moaned, as the nature spirits carried him away. I figured he'd be okay. He would wake up as a lord of the Wild with a bunch of beautiful naiads taking care of him. Life could be worse. Athena called, "Annabeth Chase, my own daughter. " Annabeth squeezed my arm, then walked forward and knelt at her mother's feet. Athena smiled. "You, my daughter, have exceeded all expectations. You have used your wits, your strength, and your courage to defend this city, and our seat of power. It has come to our attention that Olympus is . . . Well, trashed. The Titan lord did much damage that will have to be repaired. We could rebuild it by magic, of course, and make it just as it was. But the gods feel that the city could be improved. We will take this as an opportunity. And you, my daughter, will design these improvements. " Annabeth looked up, stunned. "My . . . My lady?" Athena smiled wryly. "You are an architect, are you not? You have studied the techniques of Daedalus himself. Who better to redesign Olympus and make it a monument that will last for another eon?" "You mean . . . I can design whatever I want?" "As your heart desires, " the goddess said. "Make us a city for the ages. " "As long as you have plenty of statues of me, " Apollo added. "And me, " Aphrodite agreed. "Hey, and me!" Ares said. "Big statues with huge wicked swords and-" "All right!" Athena interrupted. "She gets the point. Rise, my daughter, official architect of Olympus. " Annabeth rose in a trance and walked back toward me. "Way to go, " I told her, grinning. For once she was at a loss for words. "I'll . . . I'll have to start planning . . . Drafting paper, and, um, pencils-" "PERCY JACKSON!" Poseidon announced. My name echoed around the chamber. All talking died down. The room was silent except for the crackle of the hearth fire. Everyone's eyes were on me-all the gods, the demigods, the Cyclopes, the spirits. I walked into the middle of the throne room. Hestia smiled at me reassuringly. She was in the form of a girl now, and she seemed happy and content to be sitting by her fire again. Her smile gave me courage to keep walking. First I bowed to Zeus. Then I knelt at my father's feet. "Rise, my son, " Poseidon said. I stood uneasily. "A great hero must be rewarded, " Poseidon said. "Is there anyone here who would deny that my son is deserving?" I waited for someone to pipe up. The gods never agreed on anything, and many of them still didn't like me, but not a single one protested. "The Council agrees, " Zeus said. "Percy Jackson, you will have one gift from the gods i hesitated. "Any gift?" Zeus nodded grimly. "I know what you will ask. The greatest gift of all. Yes, if you want it, it shall be yours. The gods have not bestowed this gift on a mortal hero in many centuries, but, Perseus Jackson-if you wish it-you shall be made a god. Immortal. Undying. You shall serve as your father's lieutenant for all time. " I stared at him, stunned. "Um . . . A god?" Zeus rolled his eyes. "A dimwitted god, apparently. But yes. With the consensus of the entire Council, I can make you immortal. Then I will have to put up with you forever. " "Hmm, " Ares mused. "That means I can smash him to a pulp as often as I want, and he'll just keep coming back for more. I like this idea. " "I approve as well, " Athena said, though she was looking at Annabeth. I glanced back. Annabeth was trying not to meet my eyes. Her face was pale. I flashed back to two years ago, when I'd thought she was going to take the pledge to Artemis and become a Hunter. I'd been on the edge of a panic attack, thinking that I'd lose her. Now, she looked pretty much the same way. I thought about the Three Fates, and the way I'd seen my life flash by. I could avoid all that. No aging, no death, no body in the grave. I could be a teenager forever, in top condition, powerful, and immortal, serving my father. I could have power and eternal life. Who could refuse that? Then I looked at Annabeth again. I thought about my friends from camp: Charles Beckendorf, Michael yew and all the others who died, I have to admit I was tempted but then I thought now hang on a minute how could I forget that...I looked up at the gods glaring, surprisingly they all flinched " I don't want to be a god I want you to tell me why I am not Poseidon's son and am actually a demon, why my mothers name is not sally but Brigitta and why for the last 5 years you have been lying to me." The gods gasped but nodded and proceeded to retell the story of my story of creation as a demigod (AN see chapters 4&5).


	15. kernels pov

**Ok I will only do this if I really need help and once I have written the next chapter this will be deleted but I have writers block for this particular fanfiction and am in need of advice. So I am asking...Nein begging for your help in this.**


	16. jail break

There's uproar when Bec suggests Beranabus might still be alive in some form. Grubbs accuses her of living in a dreamland. Meera gently suggests that she's in denial, that she needs to accept the ancient magician's death. But Bec stubbornly pushes her case, and as she elaborates, our skepticism fades.

We know souls can be separated from bodies-that happened to me in Lord Loss's kingdom years ago, when I entered the Board. In the past, a soul couldn't survive a body's death, but things have changed. Death is claiming souls and using them. We've no way of knowing if a captured soul remains conscious or not. But if they do... if Beranabus has made a study of Death from the inside and uncovered its secrets... maybe he can tell us how to kill it.

It's probably a wild shot in the dark. Grubbs certainly thinks so and says that it's a waste of time, but the rest of us believe it's worth trying.

But before we can set off in pursuit of a dead man, we have the living to take care of. The new window is almost open. In another few hours, dozens of demons will be streaming across.

While Grubbs fetches his werewolves and Meera rustles up battle-hardened soldiers, I slot patches of light together. Dervish and Kirilli are resting-Dervish looks shattered, Kirilli scared. Bec's watching me. Something about her gaze makes me feel uneasy.

"It must have been amazing," she says. "Your trip to the stars and beyond sounds incredible."

"Yes," I grunt.

"I was wondering..." She coughs. "I'd like to touch you."

"What?" I squeak, startled, thinking she wants to kiss me.

"I can absorb your memories if we touch," she says.

"Oh." I chuckle at my mistake. Then I grow serious. "Why do you want to take my memories?"

"Not take," she says. "Share. I want to see everything you saw. The lights, the worlds, the Crux. If you grant me access, I can see all that you did."

"What does it matter if I show you or not?" I snap.

She looks surprised by my harsh tone. "Well, of course I'm curious," she says, stammering a bit. "But apart from that I have perfect recall. If you share with me, I might spot something that slipped your mind."

"I doubt it," I sniff.

"But it can't do any harm, surely, if I just..." She reaches out, then stops as I glare at her. Letting her hand drop slowly, her expression darkens. "You're hiding something from us. Just like Grubbs."

"You saw that too?" I hiss.

"Everyone sees it. Something happened between him and Juni that he doesn't want us to know."

"What do you think it might be?" I ask.

"I've no idea. But I think I know what you're holding back. You look hostile. I've done nothing to make you dislike me, so you must be... afraid."

"I'm not afraid of you," I sneer.

"Maybe not. But you're nervous... more than that... suspicious?"

I fidget uncomfortably.

"The Old Creatures said the pieces of the Kah-Gash have been influenced by the hosts they've inhabited," Bec says thoughtfully. "If my piece of the Kah-Gash was in Lord Loss for thousands of years..." Her expression clears. "You don't trust me. You think I might betray you, or that my piece of the Kah-Gash might trick us."

"Can you say for sure that it won't?" I ask quietly.

Bec starts to respond hotly, then pauses. "Actually no," she admits. Then she looks at me piercingly. "But can you make any guarantees? Can Grubbs? You don't know where your pieces were before, or why they ended up in you. Maybe we'll all be played for fools."

"Maybe." I nod slowly.

Bec smiles thinly. "Go on watching me, Kernel. I don't mind. But I'll be watching you too. And Grubbs. I don't think any of us can be trusted."

"You're right," I say glumly, then return her smile. "And we're the ones who are supposed to save the world? I don't like our chances!"

"Me neither," she laughs, and we grin at each other, united by our uncertainties, paranoia, and fear.

We could stop the mage before he opens the window, but then we wouldn't have a chance to test ourselves. I don't like the course we're taking-people will probably die-but there's no other way. If we want to learn about the Kah-Gash before we go looking for the Shadow, we have to fight. We could cross to the demon universe and test it there, but that would mean unleashing the Kah-Gash in an area of total magic. If the weapon's on the side of the Demonata, that would hand it the perfect opportunity to break free of any confines we might seek to impose.

"Stick close to me," Grubbs growls. I'm on his left, Bec on his right. Meera, Kirilli, the werewolves, and soldiers are behind us. Dervish is a bit farther back, observing. I sense the window forming. Just minutes to go. The mage is working inside a nearby building.

"We're not going for a full union," Grubbs says. "Just a partial link."

"Are you sure we can do that?" I ask.

"Yes," Grubbs says. "I'm the trigger. I can control it. Follow my lead, don't react when you feel my magic mingling with yours, and everything will be coolio."

I share a troubled glance with Bec-she doesn't like this either-but before I can say anything the window opens and demons scurry out of the building. There are dozens of scaly, bloody, multiheaded monsters, oozing pus and slime, slithering down the steps, smashing through windows, hunting for victims. A river of nightmares.

But nothing new. I faced worse with Beranabus. I'm more concerned about the werewolf between me and Bec than I am by the demons bearing down on us.

Grubbs stares at the Demonata, eyes narrow and glinting yellow. His fangs grow an inch, his lips stretching with them. He grabs hold of my hand and Bec's. Energy spirals up my arm. I tense against it but then the voice of the Kah-Gash murmurs to me. It's all right. Don't fight. No harm will come of this.

I don't entirely trust that inner voice, but even if I wanted to reject the union, I couldn't. The magic within me warms to Grubbs's and I feel power well up from nowhere. The shock of it makes me gasp. My skin crackles and my fingers dig into Grubbs's huge paw. My legs go weak, then steady.

We're drawing power from all around, from the earth, people, demons, the sky. Everything's linked. There are connecting lines everywhere, between humans, objects, the Demonata, the stars. The Kah-Gash was here before any of us, holding the sixty-four zones of the original universe together. And it still binds us in place-it just doesn't define the universes as tightly as it used to.

But it could. With the power coursing through me now, I could quench the sun by snapping my fingers, and open a tunnel between universes. Make myself ruler of all worlds, people, and demons. Limits exist only in the mind. As the Kah-Gash, I'd set those limits, not be bound by them. I could-

"Let's just kill these demons and leave it at that," Grubbs says, shattering my dreams of universal dominance.

I blink, coming out of the spell I was under, amazed by how swiftly I gave in to temptation. Grubbs and Bec might not be the jokers in the pack. Maybe I'm the weak link, the one the Kah-Gash can exploit.

But there's no time for self-doubt. The demons are almost upon us. Our werewolves are howling and the soldiers are readying their rifles. Another second or two and all will be chaos.

Grubbs roars and I feel the magic of the Kah-Gash draining from me-from Bec too. Grubbs is the focal point through which the power is channeled. No way of fighting it now. The energy that we've sucked in explodes through Grubbs, mixed in with his roar.

A stream of raw power envelops the demons and stops them cold. Their eyes bulge as they choke in a net of magic. We hold them in place a moment, as easily as we'd trap a colony of ants by lowering a jar over them. Then Grubbs blows on them the way he'd blow on a feather.

The demons shoot backwards, through the walls of the building, then through the window between universes. The startled mage is blasted through as well, torn to shreds with most of the demons. When the area is clear, the stream of energy fans out and crackles across the face of the window. It glows brightly, then crumples, and the patches of light which were used to create it flood back to us along with the magic. The stream swirls around us, breaking up into vortex-like tendrils. Then Grubbs lets go of my hand and Bec's.

The power dwindles in seconds and the lights drift away. It's like nothing ever happened-apart from the huge hole in the front of the building.

"Wow," Grubbs says, flexing his fingers and staring at them. "That was great." He looks up at us and grins. "Let's find more demons and do it again!"

A couple of hours later, in a hotel suite even grander than the last we stayed in, Grubbs is still itching to pick another fight, but Bec insists we should focus on Beranabus. The pair are arguing heatedly. I've kept quiet. Dervish, Meera, and Kirilli say nothing either. We chipped in during the early stages of the argument, but for the last hour it's been pretty much Grubbs and Bec yelling at each other.

"Forget about crossing," Grubbs shouts, towering over the small, slender girl. "I say we wait for them to come. With the power of the Kah-Gash, we'll drive them back every time. They'll soon realize they can't win and head off for softer pickings on other worlds."

"You think that's acceptable?" Bec retorts, not intimidated by the grotesque, wolfen teenager. "We pass them along and let others suffer?"

"Like Meera said, we only care about this world," Grubbs huffs.

"Leave me out of this," Meera snaps, but both ignore her.

"What about Death?" Bec jeers. "Will you repel the Shadow when it attacks?"

"Why not? Death might be more powerful than the Demonata, but the Kah-Gash can trump it."

"No," Bec says. "Death is the ultimate power. If we don't strike now, it will grow stronger and come to find us."

Grubbs shrugs. "Do I look worried?"

Bec smothers a curse. "You were all for attacking earlier. You wanted to go for Death like a dog after a rat."

"That was before you brought Beranabus into the equation. I'd still go if you only wanted to have a crack at the Shadow. But you want to free a dead man. That's what this is really about. Your beloved Bran turned coward at the end."

"What are you talking about?" Bec screeches and appeals to the rest of us. "Has he gone mad? Do any of you know what-"

"Beranabus was afraid," Grubbs interrupts. "That's why he told you to send Kernel after him. It wasn't so he could study Death from the inside and learn its secrets. He realized his soul might be trapped and he didn't want to spend eternity in the grasp of the Shadow. He hoped Kernel could get him out. You know that's true. You knew it from the moment you suggested the idea of rescuing him. Tell me I'm wrong."

Bec says nothing. Her face was red with anger moments before, but now the flush fades. Her lower jaw trembles. She looks ashamed.

"This is personal," Grubbs growls, facing us like a lawyer addressing a jury. "She's not thinking about beating Death. She only wants to set Beranabus free."

"What's wrong with that?" Meera asks quietly. "He was her friend. You'd do the same for Dervish in that position. So would I."

"I wouldn't," Kirilli pipes up.

"No surprise there," Dervish mutters.

"It's too dangerous," Grubbs yells. "I liked Beranabus but I'm not going to risk everything to save his soul. Hell, he might not even be there. Maybe Death didn't claim him."

"It did," I say softly. "I've been studying the lights while you were arguing, concentrating on Beranabus. A few started flashing as soon as I focused on him, and more have joined them. It's not like when I search for someone living, but if his soul hadn't been absorbed by the Shadow, no lights would flash at all."

"OK, it took his soul. So what?" Grubbs shrugs. "How many of you want to risk a rescue? Who cared about the mad old buzzard that much?"

He looks around the room. Kirilli instantly shakes his head. Meera nods firmly to show she's on Bec's side. Dervish looks uncertain. "We owe him," he says.

"We owe a lot of people," Grubbs grunts, "but we can't always repay our debts. You taught me that. A Disciple doesn't risk his life to save a few people, not when the fate of billions is at stake.

"If I think we have a real chance of hurting the Shadow, I'll jump at it. But if we're just going over there to free Beranabus's soul... That's not right. Beranabus wouldn't have thought so either-not until he crumbled at the end."

"What if he didn't?" I ask angrily. "I spent more time with him than any of you. I never saw him ask for favors. He was the most selfless person I knew. What if he really did hope to learn something that might help us?"

"I'm not willing to take that chance," Grubbs says.

"You're a fool," Bec shouts.

"Maybe," Grubbs sniffs. "But it looks like we have a tie, three votes for each. You, Meera, and Kernel want to ride to the rescue. Kirilli and I have more sense. And Dervish..." He looks to his uncle for a final answer.

Dervish sighs. "I agree with Grubbs. We can't let personal feelings cloud our judgment."

"What if it was personal for you?" I softly challenge him.

"It's not," Dervish says wearily. "If Grubbs was in that position, I'd do all I could to free him. But he isn't, so there's no point-"

"Bill-E," Bec stops him. Dervish turns slowly, left eyelid ticking, but she isn't looking at him. She's staring at me. "Is it Bill-E?"

I nod slowly.

"Liar!" Grubbs howls, raising a huge, shaggy fist. "How dare you-"

"I searched for him after I looked for Beranabus," I say quickly. "I was running tests, searching for others I knew who'd died, like Mrs. Egin, Logan Rile, Sharmila. I came up blank on all of them. Then I thought of Bill-E and a few lights flashed, the way they flashed for Beranabus."

"If you're lying..." Grubbs growls, fingers clenched tight.

I step forward. I'm shaking like a rattlesnake's tail but I speak clearly. "If you think I'd say this to trick you, you don't know me at all."

Grubbs stares into my eyes. He wants to find deception, but he can't, because I'm telling the truth. His shoulders slump and he backs away. He shares a scared look with Dervish, who's been hit just as hard by the news.

Bec could crow but she doesn't. She merely waits.

"I killed him to free him," Grubbs finally croaks. "It was the hardest thing I've done. I murdered my own brother. I wouldn't have done that to save the world, the universe, or anything else. But I couldn't bear to let him live in torment at the hands of the Demonata. I killed him to spare his suffering, to set him free. Now you're telling me I didn't, that the Shadow has him?"

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

Tears of blood trickle from Grubbs's eyes. Raising a hand, he wipes them away, then covers his face with his hand and moans softly.

"We have to free them," Bec says. She crouches by his side and reaches out to embrace him.

"Don't touch me!" he barks, pulling away from her.

"Don't be silly," she smiles. "I absorbed your secret when we linked outside. I know what Juni predicted. But I don't believe her. She's insane. You would never do what she claimed."

Grubbs cries out and wraps his arms around the little girl, hugging her like a doll, weeping while we stare at the pair of them, bewildered. When he finally stops crying, he releases Bec and grins shakily at her, then casts his gaze over the rest of us, his features firm.

"Show of hands. Who's going to help me and Bec kick some Shadow ass?"

Five arms rise immediately. Kirilli is the only dissenter. "You're all crazy," he grumbles.

"Overruled," Dervish laughs, then twists his spikes into place and drawls like a gangster. "I always wanted to be part of a jailbreak!"

I try opening a window to Beranabus, then Bill-E, but enjoy no luck. It's too difficult on this world. The lights are few and scattered. I need more power to piece them together. I need the magic of the demon universe.

We cross to a realm we know is safe, where we've based ourselves in the past. Grubbs brings his pack of werewolves along ("For fun," he grins bleakly) but we leave the soldiers behind. I choose a place where time operates like it does on Earth. That way we should be back to face the next assault. Assuming we survive our brush with Death. Which is a pretty big assumption.

As the others prepare for battle, I use the lights to pinpoint the position of our enemies. I still can't get a fix on Death, even though I now know its identity. But I find Lord Loss and Juni Swan easily enough. They're on a world I've never been to, surrounded by thousands... no, millions of demons. The thought of entering the midst of such an army is terrifying.

I think of telling the others, but what's the point? We have to do this. Bec, Dervish, and Grubbs for personal reasons, me because I believe-hope-Beranabus can reveal something about Death which will give us the power to defeat it. If all goes well, we won't have to face the demons, just their shadowy master. If it goes poorly...

Best not to dwell on that.

I turn my thoughts away from demons. Breathing calmly, I focus on Beranabus. Lights begin to pulse, but there aren't many of them and I have a tough time piecing them together. Normally lights flock to me when I summon them but these patches resist. I have to focus harder than I've ever had to, and even then they only drift towards me sluggishly, reluctantly.

Gritting my teeth, I bully the patches into place, slotting them together as if they were pieces of a crudely carved jigsaw puzzle. I'm aware of time ticking, the others growing impatient, especially the werewolves, who howl and hammer the ground with their fists, eager for action.

I push the distractions from my mind and focus on the lights. Normally I can multitask, chat with others while I'm working on a window. Not now. This will take everything I have. I'm doing something no one has ever done before, breaching the barriers of life itself.

Eventually, after hours of fierce concentration, when I'm starting to think it's impossible, a small window opens. It's an unimpressive, jagged panel of brown light, and it flickers alarmingly at the edges. But I don't care. It shouldn't by rights be open at all, so I'm more proud of it than any window I've ever created.

"Come on," I shout, reacting quickly to push the outermost lights back in place before they can buckle. "This will only hold for a few seconds."

"Where does it-" Grubbs starts to ask.

"No time!" I yell. "We have to go now or not at all."

"Then let's go," Grubbs grunts and dives blindly through the window.

The werewolves rush after him. When the last of the sixteen has vanished, a nervous Meera crosses, followed by Bec. Kirilli steps forward but hesitates.

"I really don't want to do this," he mutters.

"Too bad!" Dervish laughs and pushes the startled stage magician through.

"Hurry," I gasp, feeling the window start to disintegrate.

Dervish ducks past my whirring arms. As soon as he's out of sight, I throw myself after him. I sense the window collapse as I sail through. Whatever happens next, whatever dire mess we wind up in, there's no quick way out. We're in this to the end, whether we like it or not.

I find myself in a realm of shadows, dark and swirling. The shadows whip at me and then flit away as if blown by a strong wind. But there's no wind here, just the ever-circling shades of the dead.

I was expecting cries and moans of torment, but it's silent. That surprises me. At the least I should be able to hear the howls of the werewolves. But when I open my mouth to call for the others-I can't see any of them-I realize why it's so quiet. Sounds don't carry. Though I shout at the top of my voice, nothing emerges.

I hunker down, fighting the dark wisps which threaten to bowl me over and sweep me away. There's no floor, just banks of shadows all around. I'm not floating. It's more like being stuck in a pool of mud.

I try to create a ball of light but nothing happens. There's magic here, waves of energy washing between the shadowy souls and binding them, but it's a different type of magic and I'm unable to channel it.

As I try again, something solid strikes my left shoulder. Cringing away from my assailant, I peer through the streams of shadows masking my eyes. I spy a bulky shapebearing down on me. Impossible to tell if it's friend or foe. I back up, desperately scouring the space around me for a trace of magic I can use. Then a pair of huge hands grasps my arms and tugs me to a halt. A face thrusts up next to mine. It's a fearsome, demonic face, and my first instinct is to lash out. But as a veil of shadows whisks away from over the creature's eyes, I realize it's Grubbs.

He says something. I shake my head and mouth back the words, "I can't hear."

Grubbs narrows his eyes. Nothing happens for a few seconds. Then I hear his voice inside my head. "-me now? Can you hear me now? Can you-"

"Yes," I stop him, replying silently, thinking the words instead of voicing them.

"Are you able to channel the magic?" he asks.

"No."

He tuts, then grins. "I couldn't either. Nobody could. But Bec adapted swiftly and showed the rest of us. Come on."

He leads me through the shadows, half-staggering, half-swimming. The others aren't far away-they're grouped together, Bec at the center, the rest huddled round her, lit dimly by flickering balls of light which she has generated. They all look scared, especially Kirilli. Even the werewolves are subdued, whining silently and glancing around uneasily.

Once I'm in physical contact with the group, Bec speaks. "We haven't much time. Death isn't aware of us yet but it will discover us soon. You have to find Beranabus and Bill-E as quickly as possible."

I realize she's talking to me. "How can I find them?" I protest. "I opened the window and brought us here. What more can I do?"

"You're the eyes of the Kah-Gash," she snaps. "You see more than any of us. To me there's no difference in the shadows. They all look the same. But I'm sure you can see more."

"Well, I can't," I snarl, hating the way she's heaping the pressure onto me.

A wave of energy floods through me, opening doors within my brain, clearing passageways. Suddenly I find myself absorbing and converting the magic of Death. I fillwith power and breathe out easily, smiling at the buzz of it.

"How did you do that?" I ask, relaxed and cool.

"I used my gift," Bec says. "Now use yours and look."

Still smiling, I cast my gaze around and see that Bec was right. Now that I've tapped into the magic, the shadows have taken on a new consistency. There are thousands of individual shards and shapes whirling around us, no two alike. I can't believe I didn't see them before. Each has its own shade, form, and way of moving. They're all a grey-black color, but there are more variants of grey and black than I would have dreamed possible.

My first thought is, "So this is what souls look like." But that's not right. This is only what they look like here. Death has taken these unfortunates and molded them into what it wanted them to be.

As I study the souls, I extend my thoughts, focusing on individuals, trying to communicate. Nothing happens for a while. Then, all of a sudden, I'm struck by a burst of voices, screams and yowls, tormented cries for help and release. Wincing, I shut out the noises. After a brief pause, I open myself to the voices again but put filters in place, blocking out the worst of the background noise.

"Who are you?" I ask a nearby shadow as it floats past.

"Free me!" it screams.

"Who are you?" I shout again, but it only repeats its plea. Others that I focus on are the same, impossible to question, wailing for freedom.

I turn to tell the others but I don't need to. Bec has been in touch with me the whole time and has broadcast the short snippets to the rest. They look distraught. The suffering of these souls is awful. In life, no matter how bad things get, at least you have the release of death to look forward to, the belief that no matter what lies beyond, nothing can be as bad as this.

But these people have shuffled off their mortal coils, only to find themselves ensnared by the force they were relying on to set them free. Every soul here knows it wasn't meant for this hellish realm. Having escaped the confines of natural life, they've found themselves caught in an unnatural web and it's driven them insane.

"We have to get out of here!" Kirilli shrieks. "We can't help them!"

"Bran won't have given in to madness," Bec insists. "Find him, Kernel. He won't have surrendered. Not Bran."

I don't have her faith in the ancient magician but I search anyway. Using the magic of Death, I send a radar-like cry out in all directions, calling for Beranabus, trying to locate his position. Once I've sent the signal, I wait for it to echo back. If he's still conscious, he'll respond. But if he's like the others... if he's lost his senses and forgotten his name... become just a swirling shadow with no idea of self...

"Bill-E," Grubbs snarls as we wait. "Look for Bill-E too."

"I will," I tell him, "but give me time. Beranabus first. If we-"

I stop, jaw dropping. Because an answering burst of energy has echoed back to me from a point far away.

"Was that Bran?" Bec hisses.

"I think so," I say hesitantly. "But it was very weak. I guess there's only one way to find out." I look around to make sure everyone's ready, then start forward, wading through the sluggish swirls of shadows, repeating the signal, zoning in on the area where the soul of Beranabus seems to be signaling back.

We reach the place where the response came from. I don't see anything different at first. It looks like any other part of this wretched no man's land. The souls cluster and swirl around us. I call Beranabus's name but there's no reply. I study the river of souls but it's impossible to say who they might have belonged to in life. Maybe the reply was a fluke, or I only heard-

"That was always your problem," a voice snaps inside my head. "You take too many things into consideration."

"Bran!" Bec cries, head whipping from side to side, searching the gloom for her childhood friend.

"I'm here," Beranabus says, and I trace the voice to a shadow circling overhead, no more remarkable than any other.

"Where is he?" Bec shouts. "I can't see him."

"Relax, Little One," Beranabus hushes her. "Kernel's the only one who can see me. You'll have to be content with my voice. Not that it's a bad voice. I've roared down demon masters in my time."

I burst out laughing. This is the most incredible thing ever. I never thought I'd be in direct contact with my old mentor again. But before I can tell him how sorry I am that he was killed, Grubbs shouts at the dead magician.

"Is Bill-E here?" he cries.

"Aye," Beranabus rumbles.

"Where? Let me talk with him. Bill-E!" Grubbs swivels wildly, shouting his dead brother's name.

"Were you always this stupid or is it a result of your recent metamorphosis?" Beranabus snaps. "I was thousands of years old when I died, more powerful than any human in history. Yet it took everything I had to hold my thoughts together and not become one of the wailing cretins this place is stuffed with. Do you really think your young brother fought off the madness that all the others succumbed to?"

Grubbs draws to a stop and turns to face me, his eyes cold with hatred. "Show me where that vile old buzzard is. I'll kill him again."

Beranabus laughs cruelly. "Control yourself. I never put things politely when I was alive, so I'm hardly going to start now that I'm dead! Your brother's here, he's lost his mind and is suffering, and unless you free us all, he'll remain trapped indefinitely."

"Then we can free you?" Bec shouts hopefully.

"I think so," Beranabus mutters. "That's not why I told you to ask Kernel to find me, but it will certainly be a bonus. I can't hold my mind together much longer. The effort..." In those few words I get the sense of how close Beranabus is to snapping. Despite his brave front, he's terrified.

"Before we try that," Beranabus says more brightly, "I want to know everything that's happened since I died. Bec-open your thoughts to me."

The shadow of Beranabus's soul darts closer to Bec and hovers over the girl's head. A tendril gently touches her forehead. She closes her eyes and smiles. I get the impression of memories being transferred, like data being uploaded from one computer to another. Then Beranabus sighs.

"I'd gathered some of that already-you can learn a lot here if you keep your eyes and ears open, metaphorically speaking-but there's much more to consider now. I don't think..."

He falls silent. Bec's eyes half open, then close again. She nods softly and I realize he's speaking privately to her.

Grubbs steps up beside me. "Can you find Bill-E?" he asks.

"Even if I could, would you want to speak to him like this?" I answer quietly. "Wouldn't it be better to just free him?"

"But I never said a proper goodbye. There are so many things-"

"Kernel's right," Dervish says, laying a trembling hand on Grubbs's shoulder. "Better to remember Billy as he was. If we can set his soul loose, that will be enough."

Grubbs nods reluctantly, then squints at Bec. "What's going on between those two? Why the secrecy?"

"I was wondering the same thing," I whisper.

"Such suspicious minds," Beranabus barks. "You'll need to trust each other if you're to defeat Death and save the universe. Haven't you heard of teamwork?"

"You think we can beat it?" I ask eagerly.

"Not a hope in hell," Beranabus chuckles. "But you have to try, don't you?"

Bec's eyes are open. She looks troubled. I don't know what Beranabus shared with her, but I'm reminded of Raz's warning. I have a bad feeling. Suddenly I wish I hadn't insisted on this mission, that I'd left Beranabus alone. I thought he could teach us how to vanquish our foes, but all he's done is predict doom and tell Bec something that's set her mind awhirl. But awhirl with what? Deceit?

Before I can press the issue, a cluster of shadows to my left bunches together, throbs, then rises high above us like a cobra's head.

"Ah," Beranabus sighs. "The behemoth awakes."

"It's alive!" Kirilli shrieks as the shadowy growth studies us ominously.

"This would be a good time to split," Meera mutters.

The pillar of shadows smashes down on us before anyone can volunteer a plan. We're thrown apart, yelling with panic. The werewolves howl and lurch at the massed head of shadows, but it bats them aside with ease and rises above us again. As it does, more shadows converge around us. Death might have taken a while to note our presence, but it's moving swiftly to turn its imprisoned souls against us.

"Bec!" I roar, dodging another of the Shadow's blows. "How do we get out?"

Beranabus answers mockingly. "Can't you open a window, Kernel? That was always your specialty."

"No time!" I yell. "Bec?"

"The Kah-Gash," she says shakily, reaching towards me. A twisting fist of shadows slams into her right arm, snapping it at the elbow. She screams as her hand goes limp, then grits her teeth and unleashes a burst of energy at the fist. The shadows shatter beneath the force of the blow. Bec clutches me with her left hand. "Grubbs!" she yells.

He's already making his way towards us, lips moving silently as he speaks to his piece of the Kah-Gash. A sword of shadows slices across his back, drawing blood, but he just grunts and pushes on.

Kirilli's bouncing about like a Mexican jumping bean, dodging the spines and hammers that are forming and striking at us, yelping with each narrow escape, the rags of his tattered suit flapping up and down to comical effect.

"That's the way." Beranabus laughs at the petrified stage magician. "Dance, fool, dance!" He cackles madly. I think he's closer to insanity than he realizes.

Grubbs reaches us and lays a powerful paw on my neck, the other on Bec's. I immediately feel the Kah-Gash flare into life. There's not as much power as before, because we're surrounded by Death, unable to draw energy from the stars. But I still feel about ten times more powerful than normal.

As a hammer of shadows crashes upon us, Grubbs roars and it disintegrates. He releases Bec and me but the link remains. With his hands, he claws at the shadows around us, ripping dark holes through the fog of souls. Bec and I follow his lead, using magic to split shadows and blast through thicker banks of them. The others join in-except Kirilli, who's still leaping about-and we attack the formations that Death has sent against us.

"This way," Beranabus calls, shooting ahead. I don't know how anyone could find their bearings here, but I have to trust him. It's not like we have much choice.

We struggle after the fleeing shadow. I'm following Beranabus, the others are trailing me. Kirilli is the only one who doesn't come. He hasn't looked around. I call his name a few times but he doesn't respond. In the end I curse and leave him. I feel bad, abandoning the Disciple, but you can't save everyone. Some of the werewolves have already been killed. The power of the Kah-Gash is fading, having no outside source to draw from. If I went back for Kirilli, I'd waste energy and time, and that would prove the death of us all.

A noise grows as we push on. It's a hissing sound, the spitting of a million furious snakes. Death is venting its rage. I've heard all sorts of shrieks and cries during my years in the demon universe. Nothing sent a shiver down my spine as much as this.

A spear of shadows strikes Grubbs just above his heart and shoots out the other side. With a roar of pain he falls to his knees but is up again instantly. His fangs lengthen and as another spear arcs towards him, he snatches it between his oversized teeth and grinds it to pieces, then spits them out.

A shadowy scythe splits the flesh of Meera's lower back. She staggers, finds her feet, then is struck by a thick club. She falls unconscious, but Dervish is there to grab her and haul her forwards. His face is flushed, his limbs are trembling, his heart must be pounding fit to burst, but he carries on. I don't know if it's for Meera's sake or his own, but he doesn't quit, even though it would be easier for him to lie down and die.

I've been hammered all over and I'm bleeding from a variety of cuts, like the others, but Bec's hardly been touched. She's the strongest of us in this place of death. Grubbs might be the trigger, but Bec is pulling the strings at the moment, directing the energy of the Kah-Gash, using it to keep the lights going, protect herself from the blows of the Shadow, and help the rest of us as best she can. For such a small girl, she packs one hell of a lot of power.

"Here!" Beranabus calls. He's come to a halt by a thick bank of souls. "This is a wall. Focus on this spot. Quickly-you're almost out of time."

Bec unleashes a ball of energy at the wall. I do the same. Grubbs starts to, then snarls and hurls himself at it instead. He hits the bank of shadows and rips into it, roaring as he scoops dark handfuls out of his way. The surviving werewolves crowd around him and tear at the shadows too.

"Nearly there," Beranabus roars cheerfully as Dervish and Meera are knocked aside, and I narrowly avoid being speared through the center of my head.

A hole appears in the side of the Shadow. Light shines through, blinding after the gloominess of this unnatural realm. The werewolves howl gleefully and double their efforts. The hole widens and I hit it with another blast of energy. Bec focuses on the area around it. Grubbs rips at the shadows like a madman. More holes and tears appear. Some of the souls drift free and disappear as they hit the air outside. Others follow, streaming after the first few. The holes widen, then the fabric around them crumbles away. The hissing reaches its peak, only now it's a scream of pain. Souls dart from their prison, sensing escape, surging towards the exit from all parts of Death's makeshift body.

Beranabus yodels enthusiastically, fighting the flow, holding his position. "Not bad," he chuckles approvingly.

"Is that it?" I cry, hardly daring to believe it could be this simple. "Have we killed Death?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Beranabus snorts. "Death can't die."

"But conscious Death... the Shadow... have we destroyed it?" I yell.

"No," Beranabus says sadly, sounding more like his old self. "You've delayed matters, that's all. It will have to find new souls and create another body. That will take weeks, maybe a month or two. Then it will be back, stronger than ever. Having learned from this setback, it will be more vigilant. You won't pierce its defenses so easily again."

"Then how will we beat it?" I shriek. "How will we win?"

"You won't," Beranabus whispers. Then he's gone, whipped free of his prison, cheering wildly, to depart the universe of the living once and for all, bound for whatever lies beyond. Bec yells a frantic farewell but I don't think he hears. He doesn't care about life now or those who inhabit it. He's done.

As I stare at the souls flying past, shocked by Beranabus's parting prophecy, Death's brittle shell dissolves and I fall through the layers of shadow onto hard, dry land-and drop into the middle of an army of millions of demons.


	17. battle

Ranks of monsters surround us, stretching far into the distance. This must be the world from which the Demonata are plotting their invasion of Earth, the base from which they send troops when they open windows to our world. We knew an army was massing but we never dared confront it. Beranabus was a reckless fighter but he wasn't crazy. He knew we couldn't hope to face this many demons and walk away alive.

The demons have backed off from the disintegrating mammoth of the Shadow. They're watching it with alarm, chittering and bellowing, not sure what's going on. It's their leader. Death drew them together, promising them control of the universe and eternal life. Now it's falling to pieces like a punctured zeppelin. They don't know what to do.

"There!" shrieks an all-too-recognizable voice. Pushing myself to my feet, I spy her near the fore of the demons to my left-Nadia Moore, AKA Juni Swan. She's by the side of her eight-armed master, Lord Loss. Both are staring at us with a mix of hatred and uncertainty.

I look around slowly, showing no signs of panic in case I incite the Demonata. Grubbs and Bec are nearby. Grubbs has also seen Juni and Lord Loss. He's taking deep breaths, preparing for battle. Bec is fixing her arm and doesn't seem to be aware of the trouble we're in. Dervish is using magic to revive Meera, glancing around anxiously as he fans her back to life. The ten surviving werewolves have gathered in a circle behind Grubbs, growling softly as they eyeball the demons. And a little further over, hopping around, unaware that we've escaped the stomach of the Shadow, is Kirilli Kovacs.

"Grubbs," I hiss. "Any ideas?"

"Can you open a window?" he mutters, cracking his knuckles.

"I've already started," I whisper, nudging patches of light into place with deft flicks of my fingers, not wanting to alert our enemies to the fact that I'm at work. "It'll take a few minutes. Can you cover me?"

"I'll give it a good shot," he growls, then bellows at Lord Loss. "Where's your mighty leader now? Death offered you the universe and immortality. Hah!"

Bec finishes setting her arm and calmly walks over to Grubbs. She stands behind him, back to back. Dervish and a woozy Meera shuffle up beside them. When Kirilli hears Grubbs, he stops dancing and stares around. The werewolves haven't moved, awaiting Grubbs's command.

"Very commendable, Grubitsch," Lord Loss says. His voice silences the mutterings and snarls of the other demons. He drifts to the front of the army, Juni by his side. When he's in the open, he looks at each of us in turn and smiles. "But Death cannot be destroyed. You have merely inconvenienced it. A valiant victory, but you have only won a battle, not the war. You know that. We all know that." He addresses the last cry to the army of demons, raising his voice, and they roar back encouragingly.

"This feels like a reunion," Lord Loss says, smiling sadly, the snakes writhing in the hole where his heart should be, blood oozing from the many cracks in his pale red flesh. "So many familiar faces. Grubitsch, Dervish, Cornelius, even little Bec, back from the dead and as tenacious as ever."

"Master," Juni murmurs, nodding sharply at me.

"I am aware of Cornelius's efforts," Lord Loss chuckles. "Don't worry, sweet Swan, he will not have time to open a window. I let him get this far in order to fan the flames of hope in their hearts. Now that those flames are flickering nicely"-his red eyes flash dangerously-"it is time to quench them." He shouts at the millions of demons, "Attack!"

With a volley of deafening screams and howls, the army surges forward and smashes to the ground around us, a living wave of chaos, barbarism, and death.

We'd perish in seconds without the power of the Kah-Gash. But as soon as Lord Loss roars, Grubbs grabs Bec, leaps to my side, and wraps an arm around me. Unifying our magic, he draws from the power in the air and erects a hasty but sturdy barrier around us. Instead of driving us to the floor and ripping us to shreds, the demons deflect off the shield.

I work on the window as the demons lash and claw at the barrier. It covers all of us except Kirilli, who was too far away and has been cut off, swamped by the army of demonic warriors. It's a powerful shield, impervious to physical assault. If the demons continue to hurl themselves at it, they won't inflict any damage and we'll be out of here in another couple of-

"Stand aside!" Lord Loss yells, blasting his way through a pack of gibbering beasts. He studies the barrier and sneers, then howls a phrase of magic. Energy crackles in all eight of his hands. He lets it build, then directs it at the barrier, a stream of sizzling, purple power. Lord Loss is a demon master, far superior to any human in the ways of magic. Nothing should be able to stand against him. But we're the Kah-Gash and I sense within seconds that we're stronger than our foe. I laugh confidently. We're going to walk out of this without even a scratch. I can't wait to see the look on his face when...

Juni lays a hand on Lord Loss's lumpy flesh. She's changed a lot since I last saw her and has become a mutated, flesh-dripping, impossibly ugly beast. Her eyes flare with shocking madness and naked hate. I remember when, as Nadia Moore, she saved my life. She'd committed herself to Lord Loss by that stage, but there was still room in her heart for human feelings.

Not anymore. She's become that which she once fought, every bit as heartless as a true child of the Demonata. She screeches vilely and unleashes a burst of magic at the barrier. At her cry, demons huddle around the pair and link with them, adding their energy to hers and Lord Loss's, focusing their combined forces on the shield.

"Grubbs!" Bec pants, feeling the barrier give. "We need more power."

"I can't," he gasps, sweating as we all are, buckling under the strain. "This is as far... as I dare unleash it. If I give it more freedom... I won't be able to control it. Anything could... happen."

I don't understand what he's saying. He must be insane. The barrier will break and they'll be on us in seconds. We have to throw everything we have at them or else we're doomed.

Then I remember when we last gave the Kah-Gash absolute freedom. It drove the universes back in time. If we could count on it working in our favor again, there'd be no need to worry. But we don't know what it will do if we set it loose a second time. Maybe it would give us the strength to defeat the demons-or maybe it would wipe out our universe and hand victory to the Demonata. We dare not play that card unless all else is lost. Our situation is desperate but not hopeless, and until that changes, Grubbs is right to hold back.

"We have to fight," he roars. "Are you ready?" I nod weakly. "Bec?"

"Go for it," she growls.

With a battle-hungry cry, Grubbs explodes the barrier. A wall of energy spreads like a ripple from a nuclear explosion, flattening the demons closest to us. For a few seconds we're standing at the center of a clear circle, confusion reigning all around. Then the demons farther back recover, bellow brutally, and push forward, clambering over the bodies of the fallen, to surround and enclose us.

The real fight begins.

It's wilder than any battle I've ever been involved in. I've laughed in the face of overwhelming odds before, but nobody's laughing now. There are too many of them, demons of every rank, from familiars up to masters like Lord Loss. All they share is a total hatred of us and a determination to strip our flesh from our bones.

We strike without pause, using bolts and fireballs of magic. Hundreds perish within seconds, but still they press on, thousands of fresh monsters to replace each that falls.

I try to stay in touch with Bec and Grubbs, but we're forced apart. Grubbs is dragged away by several demons at least five times his size. A winged beast snatches Bec from the ground and shoots into the air with her.

I go down under the feet of dozens of hard-shelled demons. Claws slash, fangs and pincers snap. I feel cuts open down my legs and arms, across my stomach and chest. I ignore the pain, use magic to numb the worst of it, and with a great effort thrust off the demons. Yelling, I stagger to my feet, then collapse again beneath a dinosaur-shaped beast.

Fangs lock around my throat and tighten. I turn the flesh of my neck to steel but the fangs continue to grind together. This is the end. There's nothing I can do. Some wounds are fatal, no matter how magical you are. Once my throat's been crushed, I'm as dead as-

A silver, purple-tipped spike pokes sharply through the center of the dinosaur's head. It squeals, then falls aside. A panting Dervish pulls me to my feet. The spikes on his head have tripled in length and writhe like snakes, independent of one another, jabbing at the demons around us, driving them back.

"How much longer will it take you to open that freakin' window?" he roars.

I look for the patches of light. They're twenty feet away, drifting apart. With a curse, I summon them, pat the stray patches into place, and start adding new lights to the pack.

"How long?" Dervish screams again, blood flowing from a chunk that's been bitten out of the left side of his chest-I see snapped white bones poking through the streams of red.

"Maybe a minute," I gasp, hands blurring.

I glance around as I'm putting the window together. Grubbs is back on his feet, supported by his retinue of werewolves, who've torn into the demons around him, attacking rabidly, tearing strips out of their foes. Bec is still fighting with the winged demon and has forced it towards the ground. Meera's close by, doggedly working her way back to us. Her left arm's been severed at the shoulder. Half her face is a clawed-up, blood-soaked mess-her beauty's been spoiled forever. But more worrying than that are the guts dangling from a hole in her stomach, and the small demon wrapped around her waist, tugging at the intestines, reeling them out like a cat unraveling a ball of string.

"Meera!" I scream, desperate to help but needing to stay focused on the window. It's our only hope of escape. If I abandon it, we're all doomed.

Dervish has spotted Meera too. He begins to dart to her rescue, then swears and drives back a multi-eyed monster that was about to snap off my hands. He has to stand guard. I can't protect myself while I'm working on the window. He's tied to his post, as I am. He weeps with frustration as he fights off the hordes clustered around us, muttering Meera's name over and over.

The demon working on Meera's guts stick its head into the hole in her stomach. It's giggling sickeningly, like a child tucking into a box of treats. But then its head explodes and it topples to the ground. A figure breaks through the demons around Meera and hauls her forward, towards us. I think my eyes are playing tricks, but when I blink and see the same thing, I realize I'm not dreaming.

Kirilli Kovacs is plowing through the ranks of demons. One of his hands has turned into a steel scythe and he's mowing down all who come too close. He's the one who rescued Meera.

"Kovacs, you lunatic!" Dervish yells with delight. "You're supposed to be a coward!"

"I am!" Kirilli screeches.

"Then what the hell are you doing?"

"I don't know! I think I'm saving the day! It feels-"

A demon sweeps Kirilli's legs from under him. He flies into the air with a yelp, then is knocked sideways by a bellowing, half-human beast intent on getting her hands on us before any of the others finish us off. Juni Swan is back in the thick of the action.

She angles for Dervish, dripping flesh as she charges, swiping demons out of her way, teeth bared, eyes rolling madly. With a welcoming grunt, Dervish sets his feet firmly and snarls, losing interest in all the other monsters, forgetting his duty to protect me. As Juni rushes him, he grabs hold of her arms and swings her around like an adult whirling a baby. Juni spits acid into his face. He neutralizes it swiftly but not before a wide swathe of his flesh bubbles away. The pair fall to the ground, wrestling savagely, stabbing, biting, punching, and spitting, each hellbent on murdering the other.

The window's almost fully formed, but there's no one to watch my back now. Several hound-like demons press tight around me, snapping at my face, digging channels in my flesh with their jagged claws. "Grubbs! Bec!" I scream, turning from the window to drive back the demons. "I need help!"

Grubbs roars at his werewolves. Slipping free of the giants, they struggle towards me, blasting and chewing a path through the packed ranks of monsters.

In the air, Bec's seen off the challenge of the winged demon, but Lord Loss has hit the scene. The pair tumble and roll around overhead. Half his arms are holding her rigidly against his rancid flesh. The other half are lashing her, pulling her hair, trying to gouge out her eyes, digging into her soft flesh.

Meera's in bad shape, but she shoves fistfuls of guts back into the hole in her stomach and dives to Dervish's rescue, pulls Juni Swan off of him, and scratches at the traitor's eyes. Juni screeches and tries to knock her away but Meera's stronger than she looks, and she loves Dervish as much as Juni hates him. Grabbing hold of Juni's bloated, rotten head, she jerks her hard and they spin away. Dervish tries to follow but gets tangled up with another demon.

Grubbs and the few surviving werewolves make it to my side. They're all badly wounded but they fight as viciously as ever. As they form a half-wall around me, Grubbs yells at me to finish the window and I hurry to obey. The fingers of my left hand have been crushed but I can still manipulate the patches. Sobbing with pain and fear, I slot one after another into place, praying for the lights to gel and the window to open before it's too late.

Juni's laughing. She's got both hands inside the hole in Meera's stomach and is forcing them up through the layers of guts that still remain, seeking to crush lungs, the heart... whatever she can find.

"Meera!" Dervish howls, trying to force his way through to her but failing.

Meera smiles painfully. She's got her arms wrapped around Juni, holding tight. As Juni tears at Meera's insides, the Disciple catches our gaze and winks wearily. "No... Shadow," she wheezes.

"What's that?" Juni roars.

"No... Shadow," Meera repeats. "When I die... I'm finished... and so... are you."

Juni's face freezes. She catches on to Meera's plan a second too late. Her eyes widen with alarm as she tries to detach herself and dart to safety. But before she can, Meera explodes. She must have been working on the ball of energy since she realized she was beyond help. It bursts from her in a blazing flash of light, shatters her bones, incinerates her flesh-and rips through the mutated, twisted form that Juni built for herself when Death restored her soul to life.

Juni's final howl is lost in the noise of the explosion. She's torn to shreds along with Meera, and both women fall to the ground in ragged, bloody, lifeless chunks, their souls freed or lost, however you choose to look at it. Meera has gone to the great beyond, which is a sickening blow. But I experience a burst of joy as well as sorrow, because Juni Swan has perished too, and this time no power in the universe can bring the vindictive harpy back. We're rid of her at last!

It sounds like the entire universe is screaming. Dervish and Grubbs wail for Meera. In the air, Lord Loss bellows Juni's name and reaches out to her with a couple of his arms, offering Bec a brief respite. The demon hordes screech with delight, the scent of human death like a red rag to a bull. They press even tighter around us, each wanting to be next to claim a soul.

I drown out the screams and focus on the window. It's all that matters now. We have seconds to get the hell out of here, or we'll wind up like Meera. No time for misery or joy. Just focus, work fast, and pray.

A werewolf is slaughtered and collides with me as it thrashes in its death throes, opening a new, deep cut down the side of my head, just behind my left ear. I shrug it off and concentrate.

Kirilli leaps high into the air, raining handfuls of bones down upon the demons. He must have picked them up from the floor of the battlefield. They strike like shrapnel, blinding, wounding, killing. He roars with delight-then shrieks as a demon's jaws flash and his right foot is bitten off at the ankle. Kirilli collapses. His foot drops on top of me and I head it away like a football, never pausing, right hand moving mechanically, fending off demons with my damaged left hand.

Grubbs head-butts a demon and smashes its skull to pieces. His forehead comes out drenched in brains and foul-smelling fluid. Extending his tongue, he licks his eyes clean and fights on, laughing through his tears.

Lord Loss and Bec crash to earth, then rise again. They're still struggling with each other, but he doesn't seem to be inflicting as much damage. His hands move lazily, more like they're caressing Bec than savaging her. And she doesn't react as violently as before. She wriggles less frantically in his embrace, almost as if...

Before I can complete the thought, a window of pale blue light blinks into existence. I stare at it stupidly. Then exhilaration sweeps through me and I yell at the top of my voice. "The window is open!"

The Demonata scream hatefully and lash at us frantically. The smarter beasts try to crowd around the window, to block our path, but they're hampered by the mass of demons. There are too many of the monsters. They get in one another's way.

Kirilli hops to the window, grabs Dervish's right arm-he's still staring at the spot where Meera fell-and topples through, dragging Dervish after him.

A bloodied, panting Grubbs draws up beside me. He casually repels a handful of demons with one swipe of a massive arm. We're both looking to the sky overhead where Bec is locked in the embrace of Lord Loss.

"Go!" she yells. "Leave me!"

"We can't," Grubbs croaks.

"We must," I mutter as more demons bear down on us, snarling, spitting, claws and fangs at full stretch.

"But-" Grubbs begins.

"We're demon fodder if we stay," I snap, then throw myself through the window and out of the demonic universe of death.

I hit a hard floor and I'm on my feet a split second later. This is the cave where Beranabus and I were based before our quest to find the Shadow began. It was the first place that popped into my mind when I started putting a window together.

I rip at the fabric of the window, dismantling it, not waiting for Grubbs. If he crosses within the next few seconds, fine. If not, he's a fool and he'll deserve all he gets.

As my hands move within the panel of light, tearing at the individual patches, a werewolf stumbles through, wrapped in the arms of a giant insect-shaped demon. They crash past me and continue their fight on the floor. As Kirilli yelps and slips out of their way, Grubbs backs through the window, bolts of magic flying from his fists, roaring a challenge at those he's leaving behind.

Two more werewolves follow their leader into the cave. The head and shoulders of a third appear, but something clutches its legs and hauls it back. It howls and kicks at whatever has hold. Grubbs grabs the creature and pulls. But then the window comes undone. The patches of light pulse and snap free of each other. The panel vanishes and the werewolf's cut neatly in half, its lower body stranded in the universe of the Demonata, its head and upper arms dropping to the floor here. Its death roar catches in its throat.

It's over.

Well... almost. The insect demon gibbers and breaks free. It darts at the place where the window was, pauses when it realizes it's trapped, then turns on me. Before it can strike, all three werewolves pounce. They rip it to pieces and feast on the brittle remains, instantly forgetting about the trauma of the battle, fully focused on their meal, ignoring the rest of us as we sink to the floor and stare silently at each other with shock, bewilderment, and dismay.

Grubbs is the first to move. Rising slowly, groaning painfully, he hobbles over to check on Dervish. His uncle's in bad shape, the worst of any of us. Blood is pumping from the hole in his chest and I don't think any amount of magic will stop it. Grubbs starts arguing with him. He wants to open a window back to the demon universe, where Dervish will stand a chance of recovery, but the battered Disciple is having none of it. He told Grubbs a while ago that he wanted to die on Earth when his time came. It looks like he'll soon be granted his wish.

"How's the foot?" I ask Kirilli, who's sitting nearby, staring at the place where his right foot used to be. He's crying softly.

"It's gone," Kirilli moans, then looks up. "I don't feel any pain."

"You will soon," I tell him. "But I can work some magic here. I'll bandage it up and help numb the pain. Then I'll open a window and drop you off at a hospital before I leave."

Kirilli doesn't ask where I'm going. Instead he grins weakly. "I did good, didn't I?" he asks hopefully.

"You did great." I smile.

"I never thought I'd be a hero," he whispers. "I dreamed of it many times but I never believed..." He falls silent, reliving the highlights, conveniently ignoring the part where he danced like a fool in the stomach of the Shadow. I don't remind him of that, but fetch bandages from behind the spot where I used to sleep. He's earned the right to be proud. It's not stumbling along the way that matters, but how you finish.

Grubbs limps over as I'm bandaging Kirilli's ankle and healing it with magic, closing off the veins and arteries. He watches silently until I'm done, then nods at me. Leaving Kirilli, we squat near the place where we once kept a fire burning. Grubbs's face has altered. He looks more human than he did when he was fighting. He also looks like he's in a lot of pain, but he says nothing of it.

"Meera's dead," he mumbles.

"I know."

"She took Juni with her. I'd have rather killed that traitor myself, but as long as she's gone..." He sighs, then says quietly, "Dervish is dying. He asked me to take him up top, so he can die outside. I need you to open the trapdoor."

We're deep beneath the ground. A rope ladder leads to the surface, but a stone slab blocks the way out. It's operated by magic. Focusing, I mutter the correct phrase and set it sliding free. "Done."

"Thanks," Grubbs says and starts to rise.

"I could take him to a hospital with Kirilli," I suggest.

Grubbs shakes his head. "No point. They couldn't do anything for him. What a moron, letting the demons bite a chunk out of his chest. He should have kept his guard up. The old fool deserves..." He shudders, fighting hard to hold back tears.

"I'll wait for you to return," I tell him.

"That's OK. Take care of Kirilli. You can come back for me."

"I'm not coming back."

Grubbs had made it to his feet, but now he pauses, stares at me, and squats again. "What are you talking about?" he asks gruffly.

"It's over. I'm going to the ark."

"You can't. We need you. This isn't finished."

"Of course it is." I wipe blood and sweat from my forehead. I feel so weary. It will be a relief to leave this world and the fighting behind. "We gave it our best shot. We tore the Shadow to pieces. But you heard Beranabus. Death will return, and it'll be even stronger next time. We can't defeat it."

"We have to try," Grubbs growls. "We got the better of it once-we can beat it again. I'll unleash more of the power of the Kah-Gash next time."

"How?" I snort. "We don't have Bec. It's just you and me now."

"We'll rescue her," Grubbs says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "Lord Loss won't kill her. He'll want to torment her first. I'm guessing he'll return to his kingdom to wait for the Shadow, and he'll take her with him."

"What if he does?" I sigh. "We can't fight him there. We'd stand no chance of defeating a demon master on his home turf."

"Maybe not," Grubbs agrees curtly, "but we have to try. Everyone's depending on us. Meera died for this. Dervish will be dead soon too. Beranabus and Bill-E. All the others who've given their lives. They can't have died for nothing. We fight on until the demons kill us all. Only then do we stop."

I shake my head. "If I stay here and perish, the demons will conquer the universe completely. I shouldn't have come back at all, but I did, for one last stab at success. We tried and failed. The ark is all that's left."

I reach out and squeeze Grubbs's arm. "Come with me. They'll welcome you. You can help us keep the ark safe from demons, ensure it never falls to Lord Loss and his stinking kind. It's the best we can do. Staying here is pointless. The fight has moved on. We have to move with it."

"Abandon our world?" Grubbs sneers. "Leave Bec in the clutches of Lord Loss? Run while the demons are weak? Never! They've lost their master. The army will split. They'll fight with each other and return to their own realms. We can harry them, hit hard, drive the fear of the Kah-Gash into them. This isn't the end-it's the beginning. We have the advantage. Now's the time to press it home and make sure that even if Death does return, it has no army to support it."

"That won't work," I say impatiently. "Death's stronger than us, and it's eternal. No matter what we do, it will rise again, recruit new followers, and lead them to victory. It's over."

I stand and roll my neck. I want to sleep so badly. But I'll wait until I find Raz, then sleep as we travel to the ark. Forcing off the waves of pain and weariness, I focus on the lights in the air around me and think about Raz in the chamber on Atlantis. As patches blink, I start the long, laborious job of piecing them together.

"That's it?" Grubbs grunts. "You're just going to leave us?"

"It will take several hours to open the window. I'll be here when you get back. You can decide then if you want to come with me or-"

"What about Kirilli?"

I wince. "Damn. I forgot." The stage magician is resting, eyes closed, breathing heavily. I let thoughts of Raz slip from my head and think about a hospital instead. It only takes a few minutes to open this window. When it's ready, I ask Grubbs if he'll help me carry Kirilli through.

"Leave it to me," he says, then picks up the wounded Disciple, slings him over his shoulder like a slab of meat, and steps through before the groggy Kirilli has a chance to say goodbye.

While Grubbs is gone, I think about what I'm going to say when he returns. I have to warn him about Bec, tell him what the Old Creatures cautioned. I recall the way Lord Loss eased up on her and I realize why I felt so troubled. It looked like they were going to stop fighting, as if she'd said something to make peace with him. Could she have betrayed us like Nadia did? I need to alert Grubbs to the threat before he races after her. Maybe she doesn't want to be rescued. Maybe she's on their side now.

As I'm trying to decide where Bec's loyalties lie, Grubbs steps back through the window. I prepare myself to argue with him again, but he smiles and waves my protests away before I can voice them.

"You're right," he chuckles. "You have to go. I wasn't thinking straight."

I sigh with relief. "Will you come with me?" I'm hoping he says yes. Accepting my role on the ark will be hard. It would be a lot easier if I didn't have to face it alone.

"My place is here," he says. "Dervish, Bec, Shark... those are the people I care about. I don't care about other worlds. I'll fight and I'll die, and if that's not enough, at least I'll have done all that I could. That's what matters most, isn't it, doing all you can, regardless of the consequences?"

"Yes." I smile and extend a hand. "No hard feelings?"

"None," Grubbs says, taking my hand in one of his huge, hairy paws. His smile fades. "But you might have some."

I frown curiously. Grubbs is gripping my hand tightly. "What do you-"

Before I can complete the question, Grubbs slashes at my face with his other hand. The sharp, bloody, jagged nails that he was gutting demons with just minutes earlier carve my left eye open. As it pops and I howl with shock and agony, he sweeps his hand back in the opposite direction and rips my right eye out. Then he lets me go.

I fall to the floor screaming, and blindly try to scoop the contents of my ruined eyes back into their sockets.

"I didn't enjoy that," Grubbs says, his words only barely penetrating my veil of screams. "But you agreed-regardless of the consequences. I need you, Kernel. I can't fight on without you. So you're staying. End of story."

"My eyes!" I bellow, lashing out furiously, hoping to strike him dead. "Give me back my eyes, you son of a-"

"Can't," Grubbs says calmly. "But what I will do, once I'm done with Dervish and we've had time to patch up our wounds, get our breath back, and link up with support troops, is open a window back to the universe of the Demonata. You'll be able to build another pair of eyes there. And then you'll use them to find Bec and help me rescue her."

"You're insane!" I holler, swinging for him again. "Come here so I can kill you!"

"There'll be plenty of time for killing," Grubbs says, backing away. "Forget your crazy ark. I'm your keeper now. All other bets are off."

"Come back!" I yell, stumbling after him and falling. "You don't know what you're doing. You're handing victory to them. We can't trust Bec. She'll betray us. Lord Loss will be waiting. Death will..."

I stop. I've been shouting to myself. I can hear Grubbs scrabbling up the rope ladder with Dervish, ignorant of my cries. Apart from the werewolves, which are still snacking on the insect demon's remains, I'm alone.

Abandoned and blind, I strike the floor pitifully, then moan softly and lower my face into the blood and dust, wishing the roof would cave in and finish me off. If I still had eyes, I'd weep, not for myself, but for the multitudes of creatures who'll have nowhere to hide when their worlds burn.

"What the hell have we done?" I sob.

All that you could, I imagine the voice of Beranabus whispering. And then, after a short, bitter pause, he adds with a sarcastic chuckle, But it wasn't enough. This universe is finished. Goodnight, Vienna!


	18. dervish

I miss Cal," Dervish says. "We fought a lot when we were young, like all brothers, but we were always there for one another."

We're lying in the mouth of a cave, admiring the desolate desert view, sheltered from the fierce afternoon sun.

"It's funny," Dervish chuckles. "I thought I'd be the first to go. The life I chose, the risks I took… I was sure I'd die young and nastily. I pictured Cal living to be eighty or ninety. Strange how things work out, isn't it?"

I stare at the hole in the left side of Dervish's chest. Blood is seeping from it and I can see bone inside. "Yeah," I grunt. "Hilarious."

Dervish shifts and grimaces. He's in a lot of pain, but he won't have to suffer much longer. My uncle was in bad shape before we took on an army of demons. Now, having come through hell, he doesn't have a prayer. He's finished. We both know it. That's why we came up here from the underground cave, so he could die in the open, breathing fresh air.

"I remember one time," Dervish continues, "not long after Cal married your mum. We had a huge fight. He wanted me to quit being a Disciple, marry and have kids, lead a normal life. He thought I was crazy to do what I did."

"He wasn't wrong," I snort.

"You love it really," Dervish grins. Blood trickles down his chin.

"Save your breath," I tell him, trying not to shudder.

"What for? I won't need it where I'm going." He raises an eyebrow. "You don't think I can survive, do you?"

"Of course not. I'm just sick of listening to you whine."

Dervish laughs softly. The laugh turns into a blood-drenched cough. I hold him as he shakes and moans, spewing up blood and phlegm. When the fit passes, he asks me to move him out of the cave. "I don't think I need worry about sunburn," he murmurs.

I pick up my dying uncle and carry him outside. He doesn't weigh much. Thin and drawn, overstretched by the world. He rests his head on my chest, like a baby cuddling up to its mother. I prop him against a large rock, then settle beside him. His eyes stay closed. He's dozed off. I study him sadly, memorizing every line of his creased face, brushing the wilting spikes of hair back from his forehead, remembering all the nights he comforted me when I'd had a nightmare.

With a jolt he wakes and looks around, alarmed. When he sees me, and the hole in his chest, he relaxes. "Oh, it was only a dream. I thought we were in trouble."

"Nothing can trouble us here."

Dervish smiles at me lopsidedly. "I loved having you live with me. You were like my son. Billy was too, but I never got to spend the sort of time with him that I did with you."

"If you were my real dad, I'd have asked to be put into foster care."

Dervish's smile widens. "That's what I like to hear. You're a true Grady. We don't do sympathetic."

His eyes wander and he sighs. "I hope I see Cal again. Billy and Meera. Even Beranabus. So many who've gone before me. Do you think there's an afterlife, Grubbs? Will I be reborn? Or is there just… nothing?"

"There has to be something," I mutter. "Why would the universe give us souls if not? It'd be pointless."

Dervish nods slowly, then frowns at something behind me. "What's that?" he wheezes.

My head shoots around and I scan the surrounding area for danger. But I can't see anything except dry earth and rocks. "There's nothing—" I begin, then stop. Dervish's eyes have glazed over. He's not breathing. His face is calm.

I tremble and reach out to close his eyelids, blinking back tears. My fingers are just a few inches from his eyes when… snap! Dervish's teeth clamp together and he bites the tip of my index finger.

"Hellfire!" I roar, toppling backwards, heart racing.

"Your face," Dervish snickers—always the bloody joker!

"Try it again," I snarl. "Next time I'll dig a hole and bury you alive."

"Don't be so sensitive," Dervish coos, still giggling. He runs an eye over my unnatural muscles, the tufts of red hair sprouting from my skin, my wolfish features, yelloweyes, jagged claws, and blood-spattered fangs. "You're a real mess."

"With a role model like you, I never had a hope," I sniff.

"Poor Grubbs." Dervish makes goo-goo eyes at me. "All you ever wanted was for someone to show you some love."

"Get stuffed."

We both laugh.

"I'm going to miss you," Dervish sighs.

"Yeah," I mutter. "I'll… y'know… you too."

"Part of me wishes I could hang on and see how it all turns out. But then I think about the odds…" He shakes his head.

"Don't worry," I say grandly. "I'll take care of the Demonata. The Shadow too. I've seen enough movies to know how these things end. We'll all be high-fiving each other and celebrating a glorious victory by this time next month. But you won't see any of it. Because you'll be dead."

Dervish scowls. "You really know how to comfort a dying man."

We're silent awhile. The flow of blood has slowed, but I don't kid myself—it's only because he doesn't have much left. There's no getting better, not this time. Dervish has cheated death for the last few months, but he played his last card when we faced the demon hordes.

"What's going to become of you, Grubbs?" he asks. "This new look… the way you kill so freely…"

"I'll be fine." I poke the ground with my bare, hairy toes.

"No," he says. "You've changed, and not just on the outside." He lays a weak, bloodstained hand on mine. "Don't become a monster. Remember who you are, the people who love you, why you fight. Beranabus acted inhumanly, but he was never fully human to begin with. You were. You are. Don't lose track of that."

"Is this really how you want to go?" I squint. "Lecturing me like some second-rate TV psychiatrist?"

"I'm serious," he growls.

"Don't be stupid," I smile. "It's far too late for that."

Dervish rolls his eyes, then shrugs. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I won't."

Dervish shivers and glares at the sun. "It's so cold. Why's there no warmth in that thing?"

"Eclipse." It's the first thing that pops into my head. Dervish cocks an eyebrow but otherwise ignores the inanity.

"I wish we could have had more leisure time," he says. "Apart from the trip to Slawter, I never took you on any vacations."

"If Slawter was your idea of a vacation, that was probably a good thing."

"Orlando," Dervish nods. "That's where we should have gone. Roller coasters. You, Billy, and me. We'd have had so much fun."

"We were never meant for a life like that," I mumble. "I used to think I could choose it, just turn my back on magic and demons. But I've been locked into this course since birth, just like you. Bec, Beranabus—all of us—we never really had a choice. I hate the unfairness of fate, but…"

I pause. Dervish's head has slumped. I tilt his head back, keeping my fingers clear of his mouth, expecting him to bite again. But this time it isn't a joke. His eyes are closed. The last breath has slipped from his semi-parted lips. His heart has stopped beating.

"Guess the last laugh's on you, old-timer," I croak, letting his head rest on my shoulder and patting him clumsily.

Rising, I gently lay him back against the rock, then pad away and choose a spot in the shade. As I bend, I get the feeling that Dervish is sneaking up on me. I turn quickly, lips lifting into a smile, but he hasn't moved. He never will again.

Sighing emptily, I clench my fingers tightly, then drive them into the dry, hard-packed soil, scooping out the first fistful of my dead uncle's grave.

CLOCKING OFF

CREEPING through a factory, in pursuit of a snake demon twenty-five feet long. I wouldn't have thought a beast that size could hide easily, but I've been searching for several minutes without success. I should be out on the streets, battling the masses, but this demon killed a Disciple. She was an elderly, frail lady, but she could swing a spike-headed mace more effectively than anyone I've ever met. I never asked her name, but I liked her. I'm going to make her killer pay.

I slide around a corner, checking the pipes overhead. I feel edgy, which is odd. I haven't felt anything but cold, detached hatred recently. I guess the tension of the moment has got to me. I'm sure the demon won't prove to be a serious threat—I'm more than a match for any of the familiars who cross through windows—but it's fun to pretend I'm in danger. I'd almost forgotten what fear was like.

A scraping noise behind me. I whirl, a ball of magical energy crackling at my fingertips. But it's only Moe. He followed me into the building, even though I told him to stay outside. Moe's one of three werewolves who've been with me since Wolf Island. Werewolves don't need names, but after a few weeks with the trio, I felt like I should call them something. So I christened them Curly, Larry, and Moe, after the Three Stooges. I never had much time for the Stooges, but Dervish loved them, so I named the werewolves in his memory.

I growl at Moe to let him know I'm displeased. He makes a soft whining noise, but he can tell I'm not that bothered. Moe takes his bodyguard duties seriously. He never likes to be too far from me. I think he feels a bit lost when I'm not there for him to protect.

Letting Moe fall into place behind me, I push farther into the factory, past a long conveyor belt. Workers were sitting in the chairs alongside it just an hour ago. It's been nearly a month since Dervish died in the desert. There have been dozens of crossings since then. Hundreds of thousands of humans have been killed. People are terrified and desperate, but life goes on. A few of us know the cause is hopeless, but we haven't shared the bad news. As far as the general population is concerned, we can beat these demonic invaders. So, as the body count mounts, folk carry on normally, manning their posts even in the face of an impending crossing, slipping away to safety at the last moment, returning as soon as the window closes.

Moe growls and darts to a nearby locker. I start to follow, assuming it's the demon, but when he rips the locker door off and tears open a lunchbox, I realize he's found a sandwich.

"Idiot," I grunt, turning back to the conveyor belt.

Fangs sink into my thigh. Yelling, I fall and the snake drags me into the gloom beneath the belt, where it's been lying in wait. I strike at its eyes, but it doesn't have any. Gripping me tightly, it drives its fangs farther into my flesh, crushing the bones in my leg.

I once read a survival pamphlet that said if a giant snake ever got hold of you, you should lie still, so it thinks you are dead. Then, as it swallows your legs, you free your knife (too bad if you don't have one) and hold it by your side. As the snake devours your thighs and sets to work on your stomach, you drive the tip of the knife up through the roof of its mouth and deep into its brain. That always grossed out girls when I told them!

I'm sure it's sound advice, but I don't have time to test it. Unlike most large snakes, this demon's poisonous and I can feel its venom coursing through my veins. I don't have the luxury of playing possum. Besides, that's not my style.

Grunting against the pain, I grab the demon's fangs and snap them off. The beast chokes and releases me, spewing poisonous pink blood. I drive one of the broken fangs into the side of its head. It squeals like a baby and thrashes across the floor. I hang on, riding it bronco-style, stabbing at it again and again. More blood froths from the wounds, soaking my face and chest.

As the snake slams against the conveyor belt, knocking it over, I thrust my head in its mouth and roar down its throat. A ball of magic bursts from my lips and rips through the demon's body. It explodes into tattered, slimy shreds. I pick some of the foul scraps from between my teeth, then focus magic into my leg and repair the damage. Getting to my feet, I look for Moe. He's still munching the sandwich.

"Great help you were," I snarl, using more magic to clear my veins of poison.

Moe looks at me guiltily, then holds out the last piece of sandwich. I turn my nose up at it and hobble for the doorway, eager to squeeze in more killing before the window between universes shuts and robs me of my demonic punching bags.

The streets are awash with demons, the usual assortment of vile concoctions, many cobbled together from bodies resembling those of animals, fish, and birds. Demons are an unimaginative lot. Most can use magic to mold their forms, but rather than give themselves original, amazing bodies, they copy ours.

Dozens of werewolves are fighting the demons. I had them imported from Wolf Island, to replace those of my original pack. Most of the new specimens aren't as sturdy, fast, or smart as those I first chose, but they get the job done. Curly's in the middle of them, acting as pack leader in my absence. She's a fierce creature, taller than me, though not as broad. Sharp too. She can always spot if one of the werewolves disobeys orders and attacks a human instead of a demon. She pounces on the offending party in an instant and slits the beast's throat without blinking. No second chances with Curly.

Soldiers and freshly blooded mages support the werewolves. The soldiers don't do much damage—you can only kill a demon with magic—but the mages are doing a pretty good job. They're learning quickly. Not up to the level of the Disciples, but getting there fast.


	19. ressurection of beranabus

Percy was standing over a long dead demon, the demonn had Purplish, scaly skin. Dark grey eyes, round like a fly's, utterly demonic. His mouth is three times the size of my head, filled with fangs that look more like stalactites and stalagmites than teeth. But it was completely and utterly dead...but not for long.

_Taker of life, god of gods, accept my offering. Bone, flesh, breath. Yours eternally.__Bone, flesh, breath. I beg of you, return to me._

The demon shuddered slightly all its wounds healing yet Percy continued to chant.

_Taker of life, god of gods, accept my offering. Bone, flesh, breath. Yours eternally.__Bone, flesh, breath. I beg of you, return to me._

The demon shuddered again as a misty shape in the form of a man entered it and it slowly reverted to its original form beranabus.

_Taker of life, god of gods, accept my offering. Bone, flesh, breath. Yours eternally.__Bone, flesh, breath. I beg of you, return to me._

The ex-dead ex-demon stood up and stretched yawning loudly "so brother you ressurected meme" he asked. Percy stopped chanting and nodded. " fabulous now...let's go save the world."


	20. total wipeout

**AN the brothers are back in business again**

rnel creates a window of orange light and we step through onto a grassy cliff. The tunnel is being opened in a cave beneath, but we wanted to get all of our troops assembled on this side before facing our foes. I stride to the edge of the cliff as the rest of the mages, Disciples, and werewolves cross in orderly file. We didn't bother bringing soldiers—they couldn't do anything against the more powerful Demonata.

It's a wild stretch of coastline, the water dashing against the rocks far below, a sharp drop to a quick, messy death. Rain falls steadily and winds rip in off the ocean, which stretches as far as I can see. The land is barren all around. I doubt if anyone ever lived in this beautiful but desolate spot.

I feel magic building in the air. It's almost the same as being in the demon universe. I let animal-shaped streams of steam trickle from my fingertips and watch as they dissolve in the rain. There are thudding vibrations from deep underfoot, as if goblins or trolls were hammering drums in the bowels of the earth, in preparation for battle.

Shark and Timas have been holding a hushed conversation. Now they move away from the cliff and Timas takes up position, partially sheltered behind a jutting rock. He's brought a stack of laptops with him and quickly sets them up. Shark stabs a few umbrellas into the earth and opens them over the technical genius to provide him with cover. Curious, I amble across to see what they're up to.

"This isn't the time for video games."

Timas looks at me gravely. "No game."

"We had an interesting debate," Shark grunts.

"What sort of a debate?" I frown.

"About the future of the planet and what happens if we lose today."

"And?" I cast a troubled eye over the laptops.

"My way of reckoning," Shark says thickly, "is if we get creamed, the people of Earth are better off dead than left to the vicious devices of the Demonata. We got clearance from most of the relevant authorities, but it wouldn't have mattered if they'd objected. Timas could have cracked the security codes."

"Maybe," Timas mutters. "Not definitely. It would have been an intriguing challenge, but one that it is better not to have to face."

"What are you talking about?" I snap.

Shark taps a small camera set in the shoulder of his uniform. "Several of us are wearing cameras like this. Timas will be watching. If the demons get the better of us, he has orders to press the button."

"What button?"

"The nuclear button," Timas says softly.

I gape at him, then at the grim-faced Shark. "Are you trying to wind me up?"

"Don't be a child," Shark snarls. "You said it yourself—this is our last stand. If we fall, the planet falls. I'd rather it fell to us than them. Quicker, cleaner, more humane. And we might take some of them with us."

"But…" My head spins. Maybe this is what Juni foresaw. Perhaps Timas won't be able to push the button, and the task will fall to me, and that's how I'll destroy the world.

"What's the alternative?" Shark asks. "Let the demons run free, torture and kill at their leisure, make slaves of those they choose to spare? We saw what happens to prisoners in Lord Loss's castle. Do you want your friend Bo Kooniart to have to suffer that again?"

"We don't have the right to make this call," I whisper.

"Of course we do," Shark says. "But even so, we ran it by the watchmen of the nuclear community. There were a lot of dissenters, but a few gave us the green light, enough to make our job a formality. Timas is hooked up to bases across the world. If we run foul of the demon army, he'll bring this planet crashing down around us. There won't be a cinder ball left by the time he's finished. Let's see the Demonata get a kick out of that!"

I stare from Shark to Timas, then nod slowly. "But only if we definitely fail," I tell Timas. "Don't press any buttons just because you think we're going to lose. As long as one of us stands, keep your finger clear. Understand?"

"Affirmative," Timas says, then sticks out an arm. As we shake hands, he says, "Give them hell, Grubbs."

"And all the toppings," I promise, then turn my back on the Pied Piper of nuclear destruction and pray he isn't called upon to play the world to its doom.

Kernel's waiting for me. "It's open," he says simply.

"How do we get down?" I ask.

"There's a tunnel beneath the waterline. We jump and swim."

"Don't be ridiculous," I sneer. "You march bravely into a lion's den—you don't swim to it."

"You have a better suggestion?" he responds icily.

I stroll to the edge of the cliff. It's a straight drop to where the waves roll in and crash against the base. The easiest way, as Kernel suggested, would be to drop and use magic to protect ourselves. Under normal circumstances, that would be our only option. But there's so much energy in the air, we can be creative, like in the demon universe.

The memory of an old story comes to mind and I grin. Raising a hand, I gesture to the water below. It begins to bubble and spit. Then, as curious Disciples and mages gather around me, the waves part and an avenue opens, a stretch of dry land at the foot of the cliff, surrounded by towering walls of water.

"Hark at the modern-day Moses," Kirilli says jealously. "If I could have done that in my act, I'd have been bigger than David Copperfield."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," I drawl, then point my other hand at the cliff. With a low, rumbling sound, a thick chunk of rock a hundred feet to my right grinds out of the wall, forming a step twenty-five feet long, ten feet wide, a foot high. I cock a finger, and another chunk of rock slides out of the wall just beneath it, another beneath that, and so on. A staircase swiftly forms, reaching all the way down to the ocean floor.

"Will they hold?" Kirilli asks, eyeing the steps nervously.

"Only one way to find out," I grin, then jump off the cliff and land on a step ten feet below. It doesn't even shudder. "Hurry up," I call to the others. "Last one down's a rotten egg."

They laugh, then trail down the staircase after me to the cave where the monsters are lying in wait.

THE MISSING LINK

WE creep down the stairs. Nerves fray the farther we descend. I sense a few of the mages lose their resolve and retreat. I don't pause to berate them. This isn't a place for the weak. We're better off without cowards.

That's harsh, the voice of the Kah-Gash murmurs. It's not so long ago that you would have run too.

"Here for the big party?" I grunt cynically. "You must be loving this."

What makes you think that? It sounds genuinely surprised.

"This is what you want, isn't it, an excuse to unleash your full power and destroy the human universe?"

If I wanted that, the Kah-Gash says witheringly, I would have made it happen a long time ago. I wouldn't need to wait for an excuse.

"You mean you want to destroy the demon universe?" I frown.

The Kah-Gash sighs. You still don't understand. I don't want anything. When there was only one universe, I had a natural urge to keep it as it was. Since it splintered, I have simply enjoyed the experience of being. I have no vested interest in the result of the battle about to take place. I'm merely a curious observer.

"But Kernel said you maneuvered us into place. According to the Old Creatures, you kept Bec's soul intact when her body died. You chose to inhabit three humans at the same time. You set this up."

Guilty, the Kah-Gash chuckles. But it was the fascination of watching what happens that motivated me. I have no yearning for one outcome over another.

"So will you help or hinder us?" I press.

Neither, the Kah-Gash says.

"In that case, shut up," I snarl.

As you wish, the Kah-Gash whispers, and falls silent.

"Slow up, big guy," Shark says, tapping my shoulder. I glance back at him. He points to a spot behind us—the mouth of a tunnel. "That's the way to the cave. You missed it. I guess your thoughts were elsewhere."

I smile ruefully. "You could say that."

Kernel and Kirilli are waiting on the step by the opening in the cliff face. The Disciples who have come with us are on the steps above, flanked by my pack of werewolves. The mages are scattered across the steps behind. Most are trembling. A few are physically sick. But all hold. There'll be no more deserters today. Those who remain are in this until the awful, apocalyptic end.

"A few words, perhaps?" Kernel mutters.

I shrug, then face my troops and roar, "Let's kill some demons!"

With a relieved cheer—I don't think anyone was in the mood for a long speech—the mages, werewolves, and Disciples sweep after me into the tunnel. Bidding farewell to sunlight and the world of humanity, we enter the demon-riddled den.

The tunnel is narrow but eight feet high. The floor is damp and littered with fish and other creatures of the sea, a few of which still flop or slither about. It's hot, the heat coming from the cave ahead of us. It's a dry, unnatural warmth that I've felt many times before, always in the presence of demons.

Kernel is beside me. He's created a ball of light, which trails us like a faithful hound. His sharp blue eyes have lost their crazed sheen. He looks nervous now.

"Stick close to me," I tell him. "We stand a chance if we fight together. Don't hold anything back. We can't worry about the Kah-Gash betraying us. We have to throw everything we can at this lot."

"What about Bec?" Kernel asks. "Do we kill her or try to link up?"

"Kill."

"There's no way we can subdue her, make her power work for us?"

I grimace. "We can try, but I'm not holding out much hope."

"I wish Beranabus was here," Kernel sighs.

"He couldn't make much difference if he was. It's you and me now. The others are for show, to make us feel like we're not alone. But we are. It all boils down to how much damage we can wreak with two-thirds of the power of the Kah-Gash."

"Do you think it will be enough?" Kernel asks.

"We're about to find out," I mutter, and with a few long strides I step into the cave of the Demonata.

It's massive, far bigger than I imagined. There are large stone pillars set in a ring around it, a few dozen or more. One of the larger stones serves as the mouth of the tunnel to the demon universe. A human—I can't tell if it's a man or a woman—has joined with it, and I see body parts mixed in with the rock. The tunnel stretches far behind, a mix of stone, flesh, and guts, veins running along the sides like railway lines on a map. Enormous demons lurk within, poised to cross. I catch glimpses of tendrils and fangs. They're crawling through the tunnel, which is still widening. It isn't ready to grant them access to this world yet, but in a short while it will stabilize and they'll pop out like mutant babies from a monstrous womb.

On this side of the divide, Lord Loss awaits us. Because he once hosted Bec's part of the Kah-Gash, he can cross freely between universes. He bobs up and down in the air close to the rock, extended arms waving gently, snakes hissing softly in the hole where his heart should be. His dark red eyes are dilated, and his lips turn down in a sad frown.

Beside him, shrouded in shadows, stands Bec. She's wearing a shawl of webs that falls to just beneath her knees. The small girl looks even more of a threat than Lord Loss, a result of the strands of shadows revolving around her and the dark, inhuman swirls in her eyes.

"So we come to this," Lord Loss murmurs as the rest of our troops spill into the cave and fan out.

"One chance, Bec," I growl, ignoring the demon master. "Come back to us and we'll forgive you. Stand against us and you'll die along with the rest of the scum."

"You know nothing of the ways of Death," Bec says quietly. "I cannot die. Even if you destroyed my body, my soul would thrive. Death will claim you today and all who come with you. And I will serve as the vessel through which it operates."

"It's not too late to change your mind," Kernel says, his voice cracking.

"Of course it is," Bec says with a thin smile.

"Then let's finish this." I howl at my werewolves and they lunge at Bec. I focus on Lord Loss. As I race towards him, roaring madly, the mages and the Disciples crowd after me, each making the choice whether to target the girl or the demon.

As I close in on Lord Loss, I leap into the air and grab hold of the cold, clammy skin around his throat. I dig my fingers in, snarling into his face, closer to him than I've ever been. He laughs as my thumbs search for his vocal cords and find only doughy flesh. His arms whip around me, the snakes in his chest bite for my heart, and we whirl through the air as if dancing.

"You cannot know how I have longed for this moment," Lord Loss purrs, his mouth no more than an inch from my left ear. "I hate you as I have hated no other human. Your death will afford me more pleasure than—"

I send a ball of energy shooting through the demon's chin and into his brain. Fire flares behind his eyes, and his flesh turns an ugly purple color. With a gasp, he half releases me and shakes his head. Loosening a hand, I aim for his eyes, but he catches me by the wrist and bends it back, tutting mockingly. His eyes and flesh regain their normal color and he smiles as I fail to unleash another bolt.

"Naughty Grubitsch," he teases. "You should play fair. But you always had a problem doing that, didn't you? On the chessboards… in Slawter… in the cave where your brother died. You never had the courage to face me honestly."

I bellow in answer, becoming more of a werewolf, searching for the strength to break free of his hold. All of a sudden he releases me and I drop to the ground. As I lunge back to my feet, I spot Bec repelling my wolfen pack with ease, slitting their throats, setting them afire, swatting them aside like flies. Shadowy tendrils snake from her in all directions and attack the humans behind the werewolves. The shadows only have to brush softly against the cheeks or chests of most of the mages. At a single touch they topple, eyes freezing, skin turning a grey shade, dead before they hit the ground. With each murder, Bec grows stronger as Death absorbs the soulsof the slain.

"Kernel!" I bellow, looking for him in the middle of the madness.

"Here," he calls, stepping forward. As I run to him, Lord Loss waves a hand at the roof of the cave. Stalactites drop from overhead. They pierce the skulls of several mages around me. I could protect myself with a shield, but instead I swipe the deadly pins aside in a display of contempt.

Moments later I'm standing beside Kernel. Our eyes meet and we nod briefly. I clutch him to me with a thick arm and level the other at Lord Loss. As magic explodes within Kernel and joins with mine, I let it channel through my fingers, and streaks of black energy hiss through the air and strike Lord Loss with the force of a volcano, slamming him back against the wall of the cave.

Lord Loss screeches as we pulp him with the power of the Kah-Gash. We draw energy from all around, even from the tunnel of the Demonata. Hope blooms for the first time in ages. Lord Loss is writhing beneath our touch. If we can do this to one so strong, we can do it to others. Maybe this isn't our last stand. It might be only the first step forward to a new, demon-free future.

"The tunnel," Kernel says through chattering teeth—like me, he's struggling to hold himself together. The Kah-Gash wants to break free of our bodies and become a sheer force of energy. "We have to close it. Forget about Lord Loss."

"Never," I growl, then smile savagely. "But he can wait a while." Closing my fingers into a fist, I sever the lines of energy streaming from them. The demon master slumps to the ground, landing in a sorry-looking heap, no longer able to float with the dreadful majesty that's proved so impressive in the past.

I face the tunnel to the demon universe. The monsters within are almost at the opening. Their faces are twisted with rage and loathing. They've seen what we've done to Lord Loss. They feel our power. They know we're going to thwart their plans.

I laugh and point at the rock. Drawing power from the tunnel, I direct it back, willing the walls to grind shut, the rock to crumble, the tunnel to disintegrate. The fleshy walls inside the mouth vibrate. The veins throb wildly. Some explode. The demons gibber wildly as blood rains down on them. To come this close to victory, only to be denied at the last moment… excruciating!

Their demented fury delights me. Taking a step closer, I draw yet more power from the universe on the other side of the tunnel. As delicious as this moment is, I can't make it last. It's time to end this battle and move on to the next. We need never be afraid of these creeps again, not as long as Kernel and I are…

Power drains from my fingers as swiftly as it filled them. With a confused cry, my head whips round. Bec is behind me, smirking. Her right hand rests on Kernel's shoulder and she's drawing power from him, and from me through Kernel.

"Stop!" I roar, throwing a punch at her.

She halts my giant paw with a glance, her smile widening, waves of shadows crackling across her pale cheeks. "We're part of the same weapon, Grubbs," she says. "You can't unleash the Kah-Gash without my permission."

"I'm the trigger," I yell. "I can do whatever the hell I like."

I try sapping power from her, as she has from us. But I can't. The flow is one way. I can draw more energy from the air—and I do—but a third of it flows into Bec as soon as I absorb it. And while I'm fighting the shadow-wrapped leech of a girl, I can't focus on anything else.

"Kill her!" Kernel screams, kicking out at Bec. He manages to knock her hand away, but the draining flow continues.

I turn on Bec and bare my fangs. Shadows leap from around her and dart at my eyes, momentarily blinding me. Several strands snake down my throat and I gag. Whirling away from the priestess, I spit out shadows and swipe them from my face. Kernel's shaken from my grip and goes skidding across the floor.

Bec steps in front of the tunnel and spreads her arms. "Come to me!" she cries. I think she's calling Lord Loss, and my eyes fix on the demon master. He's dragged himself back to his knees, but he doesn't look ready to rejoin the fighting.

Then I realize it's not Lord Loss she's hailing. It's the others, separated from us by the thinnest of magical veils. Before I can react, a gush of even hotter air washes through the cave. As my heart sinks, the tunnel opens and a score of demons even more powerful than Lord Loss slither from their realm into ours.

THE WINK

THE demon masters are no larger or fiercer in appearance than most of the lesser monsters I've fought and killed. But their power sets the air in the cave throbbing, and the scale of it stuns me. They're way stronger than Lord Loss. I realize, as they rise and look upon us with malevolent glee, that the heartless, chess-obsessed beast is only a minor master. I thought he was a king among demons, the pinnacle of all we'd ever have to face. But in comparison with this lot, he's a novice.

As more slide into view, eager to be in on the killing, the Demonata set to work on the mages, Disciples, and werewolves. They butcher arrogantly, at their leisure, picking off individuals and crushing them like balls of paper, relishing their agony. These masters could wipe out everyone with the flick of a wrist, but they want to play with us first.

I hurl myself at Kernel and link with him. He's trembling with shock, and in his eyes I see the reflection of a similarly fearful look on my own face. But I ignore the terror and focus. Drawing power from the air again, I unleash a bolt of energy at one of the masters, a green, bulbous, putrid thing, like a leech gone horribly wrong. I hit it with more power than I struck Lord Loss with. But it isn't even nudged sideways by the blast. It glances at me with a small, pink eye and sneers.

"Oh, hell," Kernel moans.

"More power," I snarl. "We're the Kah-Gash. We can take this lot. We just need more—"

"No," Kernel says, looking around. "We need Bec."

She's by Lord Loss's side, helping him. He's hovering again. He looks furious, but shameful too. He glares enviously at the other masters. Earth has always been his private playground. He was the strongest demon who could cross, a true terror for us to tremble before. Now he's been overshadowed by these new, stronger creatures. He knew this would happen—it's what he worked to bring about—but that doesn't make his loss of status any easier to bear.

A frantic Kirilli goes up against one of the masters. He shoots playing cards at it. They pierce the demon's flesh and explode beneath its skin. Kirilli's screaming hatefully, fearfully, but with excitement too. He thinks he can beat this thing.

"Kovacs, you nutter!" I roar. "Get away from there. You can't—"

"I've got it!" he screeches, unleashing a flurry of cards, face bright red from the heat and adrenaline. "This baby's going down. It should have known better than to mess with—"

The cards halt, quiver a moment, then join and form a blade. Before Kirilli spots the danger, the blade slices across him, severing his head from his body. His head flies high into the air, and a startled expression creases his features. As he watches, still conscious, the blade splits into a scissorlike mechanism and chops his head up into halves, then quarters, then eighths. Kirilli's arms twitch for a second or two. Then his body collapses and bits of his head and brains rain down upon it.

"Tah-dah!" I croak miserably, eyes surprisingly welling with tears.

"That's the way to go," Shark yells, leaping over the mess that was once Kirilli Kovacs. He lands by our side, wipes blood from his face, and grins ghoulishly. "What's the plan, boys? How do we cream these sons of hell spawn and daughters of demon dung?"

"We don't," Kernel says sullenly, wincing at the screams of the dying.

"They're too powerful," I whisper, staring horror-struck at the carnage.

Shark frowns, then slaps us with the three fingers of his right hand. "Enough of that crap. If they defeat us, fine, but we won't give up. Figure out a way to beat this lot or die fighting. But don't stand here like fools, waiting to be fried."

With a challenging cry, he bounds away and lands on the head of a scabby demon with dozens of crablike pincers. Shark rips off a few of the pincers and jabs at the monster's eyes. He punctures a couple, but the demon has several more. With a snort, it turns its head and blows a sheet of mucus over him. Shark pulls a disgusted face, tries to wipe the snot away, then screams as the snot burns through his flesh and bones.

I try to save the ex-soldier, extending my magic to him, working to nullify the acidic snot. But the demon blocks my attempt and chortles sadistically as Shark splatters into hundreds of pieces, all of which dissolve away to a gooey mess within seconds.

I stare at Shark's remains, dazed that this can be happening so swiftly, so effortlessly. I thought if we failed, we'd go down valiantly after a brutal, gallant fight. But we're being squashed like ants. This is ridiculous. When did the rules change and why did nobody warn us?

"Bec," Kernel growls, gripping my hand tightly. "We have to grab her."

"What for?" I wheeze, face ashen, watching the demons rip the Disciples and the mages to pieces. I see the last of the werewolves die in howling torment. One of the demons picks up its carcass and wiggles it around like a finger puppet.

"We can still destroy the tunnel," Kernel hisses.

I stare at him. I'm supposed to be the one with the never-say-die attitude. When I became a wolfen half-human, I put caution aside and became a one-dimensional beast who didn't know the meaning of surrender. I should be the guy coming out with crazy, suicidal plans. But I'm frozen in place, more vulnerable and helpless than I ever was before.

"If we push Bec into the mouth of the tunnel, we can explode her and use the force of the explosion to shatter the rock," Kernel continues, impossibly composed under the circumstances. "We might die too, but at least we'll buy the world some time. And maybe we can protect ourselves from the blast, live to fight another day." He shrugs. "Either way, it's our only hope."

I nod slowly, then with more determination, regaining control. "Aye," I grunt, mimicking the dead Beranabus. "And maybe there aren't any lodestones as strong as this one. If we drive this lot back, they might never be able to cross again."

We share a look that says, "Riiiiiiight!"

Kernel grins. "To the death, Master Grady?"

"To the death, Master Fleck," I grin back.

Then we both say together, "But not ours!"

Laughing, we dart across the cave, dodging the warring humans and demons. Kernel's feet slip in the blood and slime that covers the floor, but my claws and hairy soles are suited to gripping. I steady him and we push on at a good pace.

Bec spots us closing in on her and smiles, spreading her arms as if welcoming us home after a lengthy absence. Lord Loss straightens beside her and snarls. "You should not dare—" he begins, but we're on them before he gets any further.

I leap, using all the power in my legs, and smash into Lord Loss, sending him hurtling against the wall of the cave again. Bec tuts and turns to deal with me. She considers me the prime threat and studies me warily, forgetting about the other third of the Kah-Gash.

Kernel takes advantage of Bec's momentary lapse. He sneaks up behind her and sends volts of magic frying through her brain. She cries out and jerks away from him, arms, legs, and head spasming madly. Lord Loss gasps with concern and reaches for her. I drive a hairy elbow into his ugly face, then fall on Bec and pound her as if she was a human drum. I could pop her head like a grape if I tried, but I don't want her dead. Not yet.

The shadows around Bec respond sluggishly, feebly whipping at Kernel and me, nowhere near as effective as they were before. It seems Death limited itself by uniting with Bec. As part of the girl, it suffers if she does. It can't defend itself as ably as it could when it had a body of its own.

Lord Loss hisses savagely and throws himself at us, arms lashing out, snakes darting from his chest, spitting venom as they fly at our faces. One catches my left eye and sinks its fangs in. My eye bursts and liquid soaks my cheek. I roar loud enough to shake a house. I never thought losing an eye could be so traumatic. No wonder Kernel hated me so much after I put him through twin doses of this.

Kernel tries his old vomiting trick, hitting Lord Loss with a spray of puke that turns to acid, like the snot that finished off Shark. But the demon master has seen Kernel in action before, and he's prepared. He freezes the vomit and it falls away in a thin, brittle sheet, to shatter on the floor.

But the vomit distracts the heartless monster and buys us a couple of seconds. Steeling myself against the pain, fighting the disorientation, I grab Bec and lob her at the mouth of the tunnel. As she lands at the base of the lodestone, I leap after her. Kernel scurries along behind me, unleashing bursts of energy at Lord Loss to slow him down.

The demon lords are killing almost everyone Grubbs and kernel the last ones fighting when 2 figures walk in side by side, a young looking black haired man with green eyes and an old guy. Percy and beranabus


	21. total wipeout demon edition

Percy's POV

THE demon masters perish in their millions. They don't see us coming and are helpless in the face of our wrath. We sweep through them like a cosmic wind, obliterating all who pose a threat. We don't torment those we kill. Unlike these vile monsters, we're not evil-hearted and don't wish to cause pain. I'd be lying if I said part of me doesn't enjoy the cull, but I don't revel in it. Beranabus and I just fight using our full power and potential to take them down.

Then we move towards the last Him we save for the end. The rest are vipers to be crushed. We go about our work dispassionately. But with the last one, it's personal. It's payback time, and I know that when I look into his dark red eyes and see the final flame of life flicker out, I'll be so ecstatic I could burst.

"Welcome again, my young friends," Lord Loss says, clapping cynically. "You have grown in stature since your last visit. Your incineration of the demon masters was impressive, Dervish would approve." Beranabus snorts and raises an arm "you've bin a pain in my ass for a long time Loss, now its time for you to die" he shouts firing a beam of pure energy through the demon lord ripping him to shreds. " wellll...that was anticlimatic" Percy laughed." Alright Good job, bro. Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it." Beranabus glared at Percy "we are not finished" he growled."And then shawarma after?" Beranabus rolled his eyes "fine" he groaned "just shut up."


	22. its the end

**Grubbs POV**

The walls of the tunnel are vibrating again. It's still widening. In a few minutes, more demons will be free to cross. I hear their excited cries echoing from the universe at the far end. I recall the army we faced when we went in search of Beranabus's soul and flash on a picture of thousands of demons pouring into this cave, obscuring us all, forcing Timas to press his button on the cliff above. Whether nuclear bombs or the crossing demons destroy the planet, it's definitely doomed. Unless…

I pick up Bec and stagger into the pulsing mouth of the tunnel. She stirs in my arms, then squeals and strikes me with blasts of fire. The flames rip up my arms and lick my face, burning my hairs to the roots, then eating deeply into my flesh.

I ignore the pain and focus on Bec. I feel Kernel draw up next to me, then his magic links with mine and we pour it into the struggling girl. I want her to explode in geysers of flesh, bone, blood, and magic. For a moment, as her flesh ripples, I think we're going to succeed. But then she smiles and stops struggling. Our magic flows into her, but instead of bursting through her, it circles within the girl, then returns to us, stronger than before, but having caused no harm.

I try again, but although I pump more power into her than I did the first time, it doesn't hurt Bec, just comes back at me with interest. Lord Loss settles beside me and lays a couple of arms across my shoulders. I glare at him, but he doesn't strike, merely smiles wickedly.

"What's happening?" Kernel yells as more and more energy builds between and around us.

"Time to unleash the full power of the Kah-Gash," Bec gurgles, her teeth red with blood from the pounding she took.

"She's using us," Kernel screams, trying to pull away but held in place by the magic that continues to build. "Kill her, Grubbs, kill her!"

I try, but I can't focus. At least not on Bec. I sense the power fanning out, the Kah-Gash taking over as it did in Carcery Vale when it sent us back into the past and gave us the opportunity to defeat the Demonata. But things are different now. Bec's working for the enemy. There's no telling what will happen this time.

I have to stop this. The Kah-Gash is the ultimate weapon. Our world will fall, no matter what, but if Bec gets her hands on the Kah-Gash, she can annihilate the rest of the universe too. If the best we can do is deny them that victory, we'll have to settle for that.

I start to cut off the power flooding through me, to thwart Bec's plan. But just as I'm about to take my finger off the trigger, Bec catches my eye and… winks.

The wink unnerves me. It didn't look like a mad, victorious, mocking gesture. Bec looked like her old self for a split second. It was a playful wink, the sort you tip to a friend when you have a secret, mischievous plan. The type that says, "Trust me and play along. This'll be fun!"

It's crazy. I should stop this, as I intended. Too much is at stake to gamble recklessly. But the promise in that quick wink… the spark of humanity I thought I saw lurking behind the shadowy veils of Death…

With a desperate, confused, horrified howl, I make what's probably the worst decision of my entire life, or anyone else's. Instead of freeing myself from the clutches of Bec and Lord Loss, I draw even more power from the air, giving the Kah-Gash all the kick it needs to flare into life and wreak universal havoc.

With a sudden, sickening lurch, a ball of raw, all-consuming energy bursts from every pore of my body. Similar balls explode from Kernel and Bec. The three parts of the Kah-Gash join, sizzle in the air, then strike hard at the heart of the tunnel to hell.

Everything hits the fan.

WITH A BANG

WE needed words when we previously unleashed the full power of the Kah-Gash, spells to direct it. Not this time. We've moved beyond that. Grown, matured, fused completely with the weapon. There's no pulsing sky, clouds bursting into flames, melting rocks. Instead we skip straight to the exploding-into-colors stage.

My body shreds and I know instinctively that I'll never have a use for it again. Grubbs Grady is dead and gone. So are Kernel Fleck and Bec. We're the Kah-Gash now, a bodiless force, purer than light, free of all constraints. We didn't go this far the first time. We didn't understand what was happening. We tried to fight the loss of control, the madness. Now we just swing with it, leaving our humanity behind, bursting forward at a speed I can't begin to describe.

We smash through the tunnel, the world shattering behind us, Perseus and Beranabus die instantly, Timas on top of the cliff a moment later, everyone on Earth a second after that. The planet rips apart as Juni predicted, and I'm to blame. But I don't care. I'm caught up in the moment, crazy with power, oblivious to everything except the rush of the now, the here, the us.

We're in a subuniverse of billions of flashing patches of light. We careened from one to another when we entered this realm before, but now the transition is fluid. Patches join and form windows. We shoot through without pause, picking up speed, the windows becoming a blur, sucking the remains of the world after us… other planets… stars… the universe… all matter… even time itself. And not just the human universe—we take from the Demonata's realm too. Everything is sucked along in our wake. BOOOOOM game over

Time has been eradicated. Humanity and their kind are no more and never were. The original order has been restored. Death can function as an unconscious force, the way it was meant to. Demons will live forever, breed, and kill without limits. The Old Creatures will drift along meaninglessly in their otherwise lifeless zones, or be tracked down and slaughtered by demons. The Shadow and the Demonata have won.

The end.


	23. or is it

Time has been eradicated. Humanity and their kind are no more and never were. The original order has been restored. Death can function as an unconscious force, the way it was meant to. Demons will live forever, breed, and kill without limits. The Old Creatures will drift along meaninglessly in their otherwise lifeless zones, or be tracked down and slaughtered by demons. The Shadow and the Demonata have won.

The end.

AH YES, I REMEMBER IT WELL

NO, you idiot, it's the beginning."

Bec laughs, and light bubbles around me. I blink and shield my eyes with a hand. Then frown. Hang on—I'm a bodiless force. I don't have eyes or hands.

"You do now," Bec giggles.

Lowering my hand, I stare with astonishment at the little girl sitting on a couch I know only too well. It's from my old home, the mansion in Carcery Vale. I'm in the enormous living room, in my regular spot opposite the oversize TV. Bec's sitting across from me, smirking. A confused-looking Kernel is in a seat nearby.

"What the hell…" I stop, something about my hand unnerving me. I turn it over, wondering what's wrong. Then I realize—there are no hairs. The skin is smooth and pale. The fingers are large but not inhuman, and instead of claws I have ordinary fingernails. I'm not a werewolf.

"Of course you aren't," Bec snorts. "Not unless you choose to be. You can make yourself muscular and hairy if you want, but I'd rather you didn't. You looked so silly prancing about as a man-wolf."

She gets to her feet and walks to the window. She's dressed in simple clothes, just a cloak or something like that wrapped around her. I'm in my favorite jeans and T-shirt. Kernel's wearing something similar.

I follow Bec to the window. As I cross the room, I spot objects snapping into place around me—vases, books, pictures. The room is still forming.

Bec is staring out of the window at nothing. And I mean real nothing. It's black out there, the pure blackness of empty space. As I watch, some of the garden from home sprouts into view and spreads, looking strange against the dark backdrop. I see Bec's reflected smile in the glass. She turns and beams at me.

"What's going on?" I mumble.

"I'm making a temporary base for us," she says. "I figured it might help us adjust more smoothly."

"And these?" I ask, nodding at our bodies. "Are they real?"

"As real as we want them to be," she says enigmatically, returning to the couch.

"What does that mean?" Kernel snaps. "Is this a dream? Reality? How are you…" He stops, head twisting from one side to the other. "I can't see the lights," he whispers.

"Of course not," Bec says. "We are the lights now. They were part of the Kah-Gash. Now that we've become it, you don't need to see them. We've moved beyond that stage. We're not physical beings. We don't really have eyes or ears, or even brains. You have to start thinking bigger than that."

"How about you just explain it to us nice and simply before we lose patience," I growl, flexing my fingers.

Bec laughs. "You can't threaten me, Grubbs. This body's for show. You could grind it to dust and it wouldn't make the least difference." She clicks her fingers, and her head explodes. Blood pumps from her neck. Kernel and I yelp with shock. Then a new head grows out of the stump. Her eyes open and she winks. She waves a hand over the blood on the couch and it fades.

"I don't get it," I mutter. "Is this fantasy? Are we dead?"

"No, you moron," Bec says. "We're the Kah-Gash. The universe is us and we're the universe. We're the glue holding everything together, the power that drives it, the force…" She sees incomprehension in my eyes and sighs. "Are you getting any of this?" she asks Kernel.

"I think so," he says slowly. "But…" His face drops. "We destroyed the world! The people we knew—are they all…?"

"Dead," Bec says cheerfully. "Torn to atoms, then broken down even further. None of that universe exists any longer. Time and all its creations are lost forever. In this universe they only ever existed"—she taps her head—"up here."

"I'm glad you're taking it so well," I snarl, advancing on her, trying to figure out a way to kill her, to make her pay for the awful massacre she tricked us into engineering.

"Don't be a child," Bec tuts. "I didn't trick you into anything. I tricked them—the Demonata and Death. It was the only way. Bran figured it out. He couldn't be certain it would work, but in the absence of any alternatives, we had to risk it."

"If you don't start making sense quickly…"

Bec shakes her head. "With such a small brain, I don't know how you made it this far." As I open my mouth to protest, she points a finger at me. "The trigger." She points to Kernel. "The eyes." She taps her chest. "The memory. You gave us the power to undo time and all its trappings. Kernel guided us. And I absorbed."

She waves a hand at the ceiling and it turns transparent. The sky above is black. Impossible to see anything. But as we watch, an object comes into focus. I'm not sure where the light that strikes it comes from, but it's fully lit and even more recognizable than the room we're sitting in. It's the moon, full-size and round, a pockmarked pearl in a sea of darkness.

"I remembered everything about the original universe," Bec says, smiling up at the lunar giant. "I couldn't access those memories, but they had to be there. If that universe was ever to be reassembled, the Kah-Gash would need the blueprints to restore everything accurately.

"Bran knew that too. It's what gave him the idea. He figured if the memory of the Kah-Gash could store everything from the original universe, it should be able to memorize all of the new universes too.

"I was busy while you two were incinerating galaxies," Bec continues. "To rip the universes to shreds, we had to touch every planet, person, animal, atom. As we touched and tore, I committed everything to memory. The whole of history, from the moment of the Big Bang to the end… it's all up here." She taps her head.

"I know the names of every intelligent being, the spots on the wings of every butterfly that broke out of a cocoon, the genetic codes of the simplest and most complex of creatures. I know how suns functioned, how worlds formed, how life evolved. All of the secrets of the old universes are mine. They can be yours too, if you want me to share, though I suspect you aren't bothered."

"So you remember," I grunt. "So what? It's still gone, isn't it?"

"Gone but not forgotten," Kernel murmurs, his forehead crinkling thoughtfully. "Look at these bodies—they're real. Perfect replicas, down to the smallest detail. That's right, isn't it, Bec?" She nods. "And the moon is real too?"

"Exactly the way it was before we blew it to pieces," Bec grins.

"We can bring it all back!" Kernel shouts. "The Kah-Gash has the power to tear a universe apart, but it also has the power to rebuild it!"

"That's what Bran counted on," Bec chuckles.

I stare at the pair of them, still confused. "What's the point of building a fake universe?"

"It won't be fake," Bec corrects me. "It will be as real as the old universe was. We can do anything. We can make all the solar systems, worlds, and creatures the same as they were before. We'll let history unfold as it did first time around, begin with the initial sparks of life and build from there. Advanced species like humans will live and develop souls again. Everything will happen as it did from the dawn of time up to the moment of universal destruction. We'll direct proceedings that far, then give the inhabitants of all the worlds their freedom. The future will be in their hands after that."

"Fair enough shall we begin" I asked, " everything is in place you just need to begin the explosion." Bec replied. I smirk and clear my throat to some good natured groans."Our whole universe was in a hot dense state,  
>Then nearly fourteen billion years ago expansion started. Wait...<br>The Earth began to cool,  
>The autotrophs began to drool,<br>Neanderthals developed tools,  
>We built a wall (we built the pyramids),<br>Math, science, history, unraveling the mysteries,  
>That all started with the big bang!<br>." BAAAANG


End file.
